


Hetalian Fairy Tales

by chunni



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Arranged Marriage, Bad Touch Trio | Bad Friend Trio, Character Death, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Magic, More tags and relationships to be added, Multi, One Shot Collection, Rare Pairings, Romance, Royalty, Unrequited Love, mostly happy endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chunni/pseuds/chunni
Summary: Once upon a time there was a land where magic wasn't dead yet, where forests weren't simple forests and a man's face could turn out to be a mask, where kings and queens were ruling and adventures were waiting behind every corner, if you just dared to go looking for them.These are the stories of its people.(Or: a collection of fairy tales with Hetalia characters.)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/France (Hetalia), England/Germany (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/Prussia (Hetalia), Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	1. Godfather Death (EngGer)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do this for an eternity, and now the time has finally come for me to join two of my favourite things: fairy tales and Hetalia. I wanted to have some OSs I could write to keep my mind off the problems of the real world for a while… (they were supposed to be quite short, but it seems I'm incapable of keeping my stories short :P)
> 
> Each chapter is a different fairy tale. If you're wondering why the pairings are a bit unusual sometimes, it's because I've taken eight of my favourite characters and threw a dice to randomly generate the pairing for each fairy tale (and also because I'm a sucker for rarepairs).
> 
> (No native speaker here, so please feel free to correct my errors, I'm always looking for people to betaread my stories!)
> 
> The first fairy tale is also the saddest, so be warned. Link to the original: [Godfather Death](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Grimm%27s_Household_Tales,_Volume_1/Godfather_Death).

**Godfather Death**

~

~

~

Germania as _the father_

France as _God_

Spain as _the_ _Devil_

England as _Death_

Germany as _the thirteenth child_

Rome as _King Julius_

Fem!Italy as _the King’s daughter_

~

_A poor man had twelve children and was forced to work night and day to give them even bread. When therefore his thirteenth came into the world, he knew not what to do in his trouble, but ran out into the great highway, and resolved to ask the first person whom he met to be godfather…_

The night was cloudless, stars scattered all over it, but that also meant it was cold and the wind was blowing through Adalwin’s hair relentlessly. He pulled the thin jacket closer around his body, knowing fully well it wouldn’t be of much help. Still, there was a reason he was out in the dark, and a good one it was.

He straightened his back and narrowed his eyes. His steps along the side of the road were firm and determined even though his stomach was twisting as if he had drunk a poison and were only waiting for it to kick in. He had heard stories about this forest the path ran through, about the demons and evil ghosts haunting it, about magical flowers and trees out of gold, and he couldn’t quite believe in them. In all his years taking this road to reach the town he had never once encountered anything supernatural.

He hadn’t been crossing the forest in the night, though, and the darkness felt different, yes, felt alive, almost mocking his steps, but that was only an illusion his scared mind had created, wasn’t it? Everything would be fine. He would reach the town and meet the perfect godfather for his perfect little boy and everything would be good.

Immersed in his thoughts, Adalwin almost didn’t notice the man standing right in the centre of the road, and how could that be when his hair was as bright as the moon itself?

Being the polite and kind man he was, Adalwin paused, only slightly frowning before opening his mouth. “Can I help you?”

The man turned its head to him, a gentle smile grazing his lips. He was young, barely older than Adalwin’s oldest son. As odd as that thought seemed in hindsight, the first thing that came to his mind was an angel. Taking a closer look at him, he could see that his hair wasn’t only blond but it seemed to glimmer by itself as well, the skin as rosy and healthy as only that of the richest merchants and noblemen. Even his blue eyes were sparkling as if the stars had decided to reside in them for a while. It struck him as odd that such a handsome man of the upper class would settle for a simple white shirt made of linen, the only sign of his wealth a small golden chain around his neck. If his mind hadn’t been slightly fuzzy by fatigue and excitement, he might have wondered why the strange man wasn't shivering from the cold.

“I don’t need your help,” the man said, stepping away from the centre of the road to approach Adalwin. “Though, I think I can help you, my poor friend.”

Adalwin’s frown deepened but before he had any chance to speak, the man continued.

“I know your wife bore your thirteenth child this night and I know you don’t have the means to care for it.” He placed a hand on his chest in a gesture of exaggerated grief, face pulled into a grimace. “It hurts my heart to see you and her struggle. A love that could endure so many hardships shouldn’t fall apart because of something as beautiful as a child. I’ll gladly be the godfather of your youngest son, stay with him during his prayers and make sure he will lead a life of happiness and joy.”

Adalwin felt his heart skip a beat, eyes wide as he tried to remember if he had fallen asleep without noticing it. This could only be a dream, right? How could this strange man know so much about his life? He took a deep breath.

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you know that already?” The man’s expression softened. “Look into your heart, the answer lies there.”

Adalwin’s mouth became dry, his hands sweaty despite the cold. He had to fight the urge to wipe them on his jacket. He also had to fight the urge to fall to his knees, to clasp his hands and beg for forgiveness and a safe journey to heaven’s doors. He swallowed hard.

“You’re… God,” he whispered in awe, not daring to talk louder. The man’s smile widened, the shine of his hair even more illuminating, if possible. Adalwin almost had to shield his eyes from it. He opened his lips, tongue twitching in his mouth as he searched for the right words to say.

“I’m… honoured by your preposition,” he mumbled, fumbling with the fabric of his old shirt which was so dirty, so torn, so terribly inadequate for a talk with him. “Still, I can’t accept it. I’ve seen the people in the churches, I’ve listened to more than a few excerpts from the bible myself, but I’ve also seen poorhouses, the high wall of the king’s castle. The rich are getting richer, the poor stay poor. I don’t feel like this can change… I’m sorry, you can’t be the godfather of my child.”

The man, God, pursed his lips as if in thought and Adalwin feared he would be enraged and disappointed, but no mean word echoed through the air. Instead, there was a last gentle smile.

“Well, if that’s your decision…”

He walked past Adalwin and down the road. If he were to follow it, he would soon pass by a small house, an old donkey grazing close to the door. A single candle would be lit next to the window, an exhausted woman lying in a bed, cradling her newest gift, a new-born son. However, as Adalwin turned his head to look after him, he was gone.

Letting the breath out between his teeth, Adalwin continued his walk to the town. Though, he didn’t make it farther than a few metres when another voice called out to him, silky as the finest and most expensive fabrics.

“Adalwin!” he said, because a male voice it was. “Look at me, Adalwin. I want to help you.”

This time Adalwin knew he couldn’t expect a normal traveller, his heart leaping to his throat. Still, he turned around to look for the origin of this beautiful voice. The man was standing just beneath a great oak at the roadside. His black shirt, the tanned skin and the dark curls of his hair made him more difficult to stand out between the shadows of the night and yet the glowing green of his eyes would only be able to miss if you were blind. He, too, seemed to be fond of smiles, though his was more of a smirk. He put his hands on his hips, leaning forward slightly in a gesture of raw confidence and serenity. The look of a man who was satisfied with his life and wouldn’t change it for anything, not even for good reasons.

“Glad to see you. Looking good, pal. Given the circumstances, I mean. What a shame you don’t have the money to support your family. Don’t you worry, though, because I’m here now!” He gave him a wink, his grin wide enough to show dimples. “Allow me to be the godfather of your son and he’ll have all the money in the world. Every joy he desires could be his.”

Mischief gave his glance an edge as he added, “The corporal ones included.”

Adalwin couldn’t say why the pounding at the back of his head increased the longer he looked at the young, seemingly harmless man with the voice of silk. Still, he couldn’t deny the uncertainty that made his stomach churn, the crawling of his flesh. The way his mind seemed to scream at him to pay attention to his surroundings, to focus, to run away, if necessary, as if he were in the midst of a battlefield.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man raised his brows before chuckling slightly. He shrugged, showing the palms of his raised hands in a gesture of feigned innocence. “Why, the Devil, of course.”

Adalwin flinched, stumbling a few steps backwards. He was shaking his head even before he found the strength to speak.

“No! No…” He swallowed hard. “You can’t be the godfather of my child. I can’t trust you. You deceive and lie and confuse the hearts of the people. So many are already lost. I won’t let you have my son as well. No.”

The man, the Devil, didn’t speak again. He narrowed his eyes to a glare, irises as bright as sparks of a fire. Adalwin felt the urge to cross himself, fearing to burst into flames right then and there, his whole body trembling. It didn’t happen.

The man melted into the shadows and the night was as silent and peaceful as it had been before those strange encounters.

Adalwin allowed himself to pause, pressing his eyes shut and taking a few deep but shaky breaths. What a night. And it wasn’t even over yet. He wasn’t even close to reaching his goal. That was why he had to go on, wasn’t it? He had to keep walking. He would arrive at the town and forget about those incidents, surely. He gave a nervous chuckle, almost regretting it as it echoed through the night as loudly as if it were the only sound in the world, the nature silenced by a higher entity. Hadn’t it gotten colder in those last minutes?

Adalwin rubbed small beads of sweat from his temples, sighing lowly. He wanted nothing more than to leave this thrice damned forest. Maybe that was why he was running by the time he could see the faint lamp lights from the town glimmering in the distance. Though, he knew the true reason for his hurry was the tingling that had blossomed in the nape of his neck close after his encounter with the lord of hell. The true reason was the twisting of his stomach, his accelerated heartbeat, the signs of his body telling him _someone’s following you, someone’s just waiting for you to make a wrong step, be careful, Adalwin, be careful_.

He had almost left the woods when he couldn’t take it anymore, when he stopped in his tracks, panting and spinning around with narrowed eyes, ready to strike, ready to fight for his life.

“Who are you?!” he yelled as loudly as his lungs allowed. “ _What_ are you?! And why are you following me?!”

Silence, except from the wind laughing in the crowns of the trees.

“Answer me!”

“Quiet, mortal,” a man said, voice vibrating with irritation, and Adalwin froze. Eyes as wide as saucers, he put even more effort in scanning his surroundings, but to no avail. The trees seemed as lost and empty as before, the road dark, the shadows deep and impenetrable. The tingling had only grown stronger, though, his whole body itching as if his skin had gotten ill, as if his flesh were rotting away while he was still alive to witness it. A wave of nausea made him clench his teeth.

“Where are you?” he asked hesitantly, quieter now.

There was an amused laugh, made even more frightening by the fact that it seemed so utterly close, yet there was no visible body to account for it.

“I found your conversations with my… colleagues… amusing, to say the least. I wonder… if you would take my preposition?”

Adalwin waited a moment or two but the invisible man didn’t continue, didn’t begin to elaborate the great things his son could reach with him as his godfather like God and the Devil had done. He was silent, wating patiently, and Adalwin felt the tension of his shoulders loosen slightly.

“Don’t you want to tell me how you can make my child rich and powerful and happy at the same time?”

A snort. “The world isn’t black and white, old man. What might make one man happy makes another one sad. That’s why I’ve long given up on bargaining with you humans… I’m Death. I’m unavoidable. No matter what happens, I will be the last thing you see.”

A small pause. “I can’t offer your child fake riches or wrong happiness. What I can offer… well, that’s another thing altogether. I can promise you this: he won’t be forgotten. His name shall be known throughout the whole kingdom.”

Adalwin was silent for a long while, body stiff and numb from the cold, though he wasn't afraid anymore. On the horizon the morning sun was reaching out its first tentative rays. He cleared his throat.

“You don’t distinguish between the rich and the poor. Everyone’s equal in your eyes. I respect that. I respect you.” He exhaled slowly. “Death, I will entrust you with my dear child. My… Ludwig.”

~

Ludwig grew up to be a healthy, if slightly reserved boy, and, as the years kept getting added to his age, he turned out to be quite clever and handsome as well. School wasn’t a bother to him as he liked to learn, completing even the trickiest tasks his teachers were throwing at him with flying colours. His classmates liked him for the most part, or at least admired him from the distance, and his older siblings were proud of him without the faintest sliver of envy. It should have been a good life but Ludwig couldn’t help but feel like a shark in a pond, circling the same environment again and again, doomed to go crazy if nothing changed. He felt like there must be more to his life than being a simple scholar. When he was being honest with himself, he didn’t feel like he belonged, too.

Sometimes, in the dark of the night, when he was brooding over yet another leather-bound book, the eyelids heavy and his mind sluggish, the flame of his candle began to flicker as if being moved by a gust of wind. The temperature seemed to fall and his neck began to tingle and he felt a sharp pang, a scream of his mind ringing through his ears _. You’re being watched_ , _Ludwig. You’re not_ _alone_.

Though, turning his head and looking around the room with narrowed eyes and tense muscles, he always had to realise that he, indeed, was alone. There was no one with him. No visible man at least. He always told himself those shadows at the borders of his vision were illusions brought to him by long nights and not enough sleep. He always told himself that it was solely his imagination.

That was until his eighteenth birthday.

He was on his way to school, taking the route through the forest, when the parchment in his hands with the most important mathematical formulas fell from his grip as if being pulled away. Cursing under his breath, Ludwig could only look after it as it got carried into the woods, leaping over leaves and branches.

 _I still have some time left until school starts_ , he told himself, staring into the darkness pooling beneath the trunks of the trees. _I’ll be back on the road in a heartbeat._

Still, his stomach was churning as he leapt over the small rift that had been a stream until a drought had pulled it to its doom. The sun was warming his back, the wind beneath his feet as if supporting him, as if wanting him to go after the piece of paper. He didn’t want to distance himself from the path but his legs and heart didn’t seem to agree. Every time he thought he would only need to reach out a hand to seize the parchment a new gust of wind pushed it to a new position far away from him.

It should have been irritating, it should have been enough to lead him away from this ridiculous idea and yet he only stopped when he reached a clearing. He didn’t stop because of the clearing, of course. He stopped because as soon as he stepped into the light and out of the tree’s shadows he couldn’t see the speck of white flying through the air anymore, as if it had faded away to become one with the sun.

He frowned. Because of the magically lost paper, but also because of the man standing right in the centre of the clearing, light green eyes directed at him with a bored expression as if he had only waited for Ludwig to arrive. Taking a hesitant step closer, Ludwig realised with widened eyes what he was holding in his pale hands.

A parchment just like his.

“Who are you?” he asked with narrowed eyes. There was something about this man that didn’t seem natural, that made the hair in his neck stand up as if he were a cat spotting a dog. He seemed dangerous in the way a fire seemed dangerous. You didn’t have to prove its danger, you just knew it was, and you knew that everyone who dared to think differently would regret it in the end.

The man raised thick brows beneath dishevelled dark blond hair before his almost bluish, pale lips rose to a small smile. “Hello, Ludwig.”

Ludwig’s gaze only darkened, his arms tense as he crossed them. “You know my name, it seems. I feel like it’s quite an injustice I don’t know yours.”

The man froze, perhaps caught off-guard by those words, but he quickly regained his composure. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed more prominent now, as if he didn’t get enough sleep, though his eyes were glowing like faint stars.

“I’m Death,” he said and Ludwig had to clench his teeth to keep a straight face, heart stopping at this oh so casual remark. “But you, my godchild, can call me by a more… human name. Arthur.”

 _That’s why he doesn’t appear human_ , Ludwig thought, goose bumps all over his body. _He isn’t_.

“You’re my godfather? You look oddly young for that,” he mused, careful not to let any kind of emotion taint his voice. “My father hasn’t told me about you.”

“There wasn’t a reason to do so, was were? You didn’t need me. Also, I’ve chosen this form because I thought you would prefer to talk to someone of your age.” Arthur, Death, shrugged. He reached out the hand holding the parchment. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ludwig muttered, wondering if it would be a mistake to take the paper from Arthur’s grip. Perhaps it would burst into flames at the first touch? Or the paper had been poisoned, dooming him to a slow and painful death? Jaw working, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were walking on a frozen lake, wating for the ice to crack and break apart beneath his feet. It took another long moment for him to decide that it must be safe to take the parchment.

“You said you haven’t shown yourself to me because there hasn’t been a reason yet.” Ludwig lifted a brow, absentmindedly folding the paper to let it fall beneath the folds of his shirt where it would be safe from curious gusts of wind. “There’s a reason now?”

“You don’t have to be distrustful, Ludwig.” Arthur chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “I’m here because it’s your birthday. I’m here to bring you a gift. A gift only I can give.”

Ludwig waited a second, two, until curiosity got the better of him. “Tell me.”

“You will be a doctor, Ludwig. You will learn what it means to heal, what kind of plants can improve or worsen an illness, and I can help you with that, of course. Though, the most important part of your journey to fame and riches is the time after your schooling. You will meet patients, half-dead things lying in their beds, and you will see me. If I stand at the head side, the patient can be saved and you can give them the petals of this flower as a tea. It can heal every illness known to the world.”

A small flower appeared in Arthur’s hand, its blossom as dark as the shadows beneath the trees as if they were absorbing all light. They looked more like poisonous plants than healing herbs but Ludwig felt that Arthur wasn’t lying.

“However, if I stand at the patient’s feet they’re doomed. You aren’t allowed to save them because that would destroy the balance between life and death. Do you understand, Ludwig? You’d have to let me take them away. Don’t act against my will or you might not like the consequences.”

Ludwig met his gaze and a shiver ran down his spine that wasn’t quite uncomfortable. Slowly, he nodded.

~

Everything happened just as Arthur had told him.

His parents had been more than a bit uncertain when he had informed them that he would leave home to study in the capital city, to study medicine of all things. They had hoped he would soon start to earn money, perhaps taking the job as a teacher the town’s mayor had offered. Ludwig had promised them they wouldn’t regret letting him go. He had promised them there was much more than a small teacher’s pay waiting for him. There had been a knowing glint in his father’s eyes, a small smile on his face, and they had let him go.

Arthur didn’t show himself to anyone but Ludwig himself but he was often there when Ludwig spent his evenings in the library, ready to answer every one of his whispered questions, willing to discuss the book’s topics in a slightly louder voice after every other student had long left.

He was a good conversational partner, knowledgeable in almost everything, ready to explain not only why Ludwig had made a mistake but also how to not make it again, willing to listen and look over his essays, articles and scientific investigations before he would give them in.

He got a bit impatient whenever Ludwig insisted on looking into a marginal detail a book had mentioned as a sideline, spending hours doing so, determined to understand the underlying mechanisms. He would begin to rest his head on his arms, pursing his lips and looking at Ludwig out of heavy-lidded eyes. He would throw in snarky comments at first, before refusing to talk to him at all, sometimes even melting into the shadows and leaving him to his own devices.

However, Arthur always returned, give or take a day or two, and he always gave him a small smile, eyebrows lifted as if asking _ready to continue our journey, my friend?_

There was always a proud grin on his face, bright as if he were trying to outshine the sun, whenever Ludwig told him about his score on the latest tests. It was always far above average, yes, more often than not he had outdone even the smartest of his peers.

As time went on the topics they broached during their library sessions weren’t limited to mere scientific studies anymore. Soon enough they were talking about everything that came to Ludwig’s mind, everything concerning him and the world, philosophical questions Arthur only answered with vague remarks, but also full-blown discussions about the political situation of the kingdom. Those tended to last days at a time, neither of them wanting to leave their position, both of them stubborn enough to defend their point until it wasn’t possible anymore.

There was something beautiful in watching Arthur freeze, face stiff, green eyes burning and jaw working in silence as he frantically searched for an argument to beat Ludwig’s but failed to come up with one. Though, that was a rare occurrence, sadly.

Sometimes Ludwig felt like Arthur was the only true friend he had.

~

His first patient was a mother of three children, the forehead glowing with fever, the closed eyelids twitching in pain. The father was standing in the doorframe, warily eyeing Ludwig’s movements as if not really trusting such a young doctor. Arthur was there, too, just as he had told him all this time ago, and he was standing right next to the pillow the poor woman’s head was resting on.

Ludwig knew he would be able to save her and saving her he did.

She was only the first of many, many patients to come. Soon enough it wasn’t only the poor people from the country that asked him to come and help, but also rich merchants, monks and nuns, bakers as well as mathematicians, noblemen and women. Soon enough the whole kingdom knew his name, everyone eager to meet the skilful doctor who would recognise every symptom, who could tell what illness had taken a hold on the person in less than an hour. Everyone admired this godsend man who could heal even the most hopeless cases more often than not.

Ludwig enjoyed the fame, the smiles on the people whenever they looked at him, their friendliness, the generous sums of money being payed to him. They allowed him to lead a comfortable life and even have enough money to put some of it aside to give to his parents and siblings, to donate to the church or to the orphanages.

He didn’t forget Arthur and his help, of course, even though they couldn’t spend as much time together as they once had with Ludwig being as busy as he was. Still, whenever he saw him, even if it was at the feet of a patient, even if he knew what kind of message he would have to deliver, he always allowed himself to smile at Arthur, a small smile, secretive and only intended for him, and Arthur always smiled back.

It was a good life he led, if a bit lonely, though it changed when he was called to the royal castle.

King Julius had fallen gravely ill and no doctor had been able to help him, no matter what they had tried or given him. His condition was concerning, to say the least, which was why the best one had to be sought out, and as it happened, Ludwig was the best doctor and the only hope the kingdom had.

Walking into the castle felt odd after he had experienced poverty first-hand, after he had seen the old, torn clothes of his parents and the brittle wooden house they called their home. It was massive, far bigger than any man could have a need for, the hallways long and oddly empty, the servants running around with frowns and drops of sweat on their faces. No one seemed to be able to smile here.

It was shortly after he had gone upstairs to the royal quarters that he turned around a corner and almost ran straight into the woman standing in the centre of the hallway.

Suppressing a gasp, Ludwig barely managed to come to a halt, hands reaching out to regain his balance, heart racing in his chest.

The woman’s head jerked upwards to look at him, her eyes wide and dark and warm like those of a doe, framed by golden eyelashes. Only that they were now filled with tears, her cheeks flushed and blotchy from crying. Her brown hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders and even with despair and grief written into the lines of her face, Ludwig couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Mind empty and mouth ajar, he could only stare in awe, the urge to pull her into his arms, to comfort her tingling inside him, to hold her until she wouldn’t ever feel the need to cry again.

It was only when she sniffled, wiping the tears off of her face with a trembling hand while glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes, that his stupor broke. It was also then that Ludwig realised who he must be facing. Who she was.

He immediately moved to bow, almost stumbling over his feet in his hurry.

“My sincerest apologies, Princess Feliciana,” he mumbled, shame making the tips of his ears burn. “I… I didn’t recognise you.”

When he looked up again, the tears had stopped rolling down her face and a hesitant smile spread over her face.

“Y-you’re Ludwig, aren’t you? The doctor?” Her gaze fell from his face to his upper body scanning him, a finger resting on her lips as if in thought. Her cheeks reddened even more. If Ludwig hadn’t known better, he might have thought she was blushing because of him. “I didn’t know you were so young… about the same age as my brother.”

She tilted her head slightly, raising her chin to meet his eyes again. “Though, you’re taller than him. And more muscular.”

She chuckled, the sound short and tainted by nervousness, but to Ludwig it sounded like heaven’s music. “Don’t tell him I’ve said that, please!”

“Eh, of course not…,” Ludwig said suppressing the urge to lick his dry lips, head spinning as if dizzy, though he knew he couldn’t be ill. “And yes, I’m Ludwig. I’m here to see King Julius.”

Shortly after the words had left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Of course, she knew he was here because of the king, he was her father, dammit, his illness was probably the reason for her grief. He clenched his teeth, raising his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. She must think of him as a fool.

“M-my f-father…” Feliciana’s lips began to tremble and she pressed her eyes shut as if trying not to cry. She shook her head, the breathing shallow, hands clenched to fists, before she dashed forward like a loose cannonball.

Before Ludwig could do so much as utter his condolences, Feliciana was lying in his arms, face pressed into his chest, her body shaking all over. He could hear his pulse rushing through his ears, his throat as dry as a summer’s day, and he wouldn’t have been able to talk if he had wanted to. He could only think how nice it would be if time stopped, if this moment could last forever. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

“P-please save my father, L-ludwig. P-please, please d-d-don’t let him d-die…”

~

When Ludwig entered the king’s bedroom, he could still feel warmth radiating through his body, his face as hot as if he had spent a whole day in the sun. Though, there was also determination and energy and strength. He felt as if he would have been able to fight a whole army on his own. The king wouldn’t die, not if he had a say in it. He wouldn’t allow it.

The bed was big. Big enough to hide most of King Julius’s body, making the head on the white pillow appear terribly small and him all the more pitiful. His face was as pale as snow, the lips almost blue, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He had the same brown hair as Feliciana, though his was unkempt and ruffled as if it hadn’t seen a comb in a while. The only sign showing that he was even alive was the soft heaving of his chest, only interrupted by quiet gasps or moans.

He looked like a dying man.

Heart heavy in his chest, Ludwig looked to his feet, relief branding through him as he couldn’t see Arthur standing there. Though, then he looked up and couldn’t see Arthur standing at the head-side either. He frowned.

“Arthur?” he whispered, not daring to speak up, lest someone might hear and deem him crazy.

Arthur appeared and with him the familiar tingle of his neck, the coldness of an autumn’s breeze. His eyes were narrowed, the arms crossed, emotions written in the tense lines of his face that Ludwig couldn’t understand, that he hadn’t seen once on his face. There was something Arthur didn’t like, something he was irritated by, that much was certain, but Ludwig couldn’t tell what the reason for his bad mood was.

Perhaps that was why he only realised that Arthur was standing at the king’s feet after a long while. When he did, his stomach dropped.

“No..,” he murmured, eyes wide and blood as if made of ice. He had to suppress a shiver. The king mustn’t die. The kingdom needed him, Feliciana needed him.

Ludwig’s jaw tightened as he threw a short glance at Arthur, slowly stepping closer to the mattress. When he took a deep breath, he could smell the rotten sweetness of death hanging in the air and the hair in his neck stood up. _No_.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured closing his eyes for just a moment too long. “I can’t let him die.”

Arthur didn’t say anything when Ludwig pulled the blankets from the king’s unconscious, shivering body, when he turned him around, the pillow with his head just next to Arthur’s frozen form. He didn’t say anything when Ludwig put a hand to the king’s neck, either, when he propped him up to let him drink the black flower’s tea, when he saved him despite the clear sign of his doom.

When Ludwig turned around to leave the room, Arthur was gone.

~

It was only in the evening, the sun long disappeared, when Ludwig was reading a few pages of a book about human bones that the candle next to his hand began to flicker, that the room grew cold as if he had stepped outside into a raging winter storm. His breath got stuck in his throat but he rose, nevertheless, turning around to face the centre of the room despite knowing all too well what would be there. Who would be there.

Arthur looked even more furious than in the king’s bedroom, glowing eyes barely more than slits, lips pulled back to a snarl. “How could you do that, Ludwig?! I’m terribly disappointed in you. I thought you were better than this!”

He spat out, shaking his head in a gesture of pure disbelief. There was something in his eyes, a dark glint, a murderous spark, that made Ludwig freeze like a deer facing a hunter. In all the years they had spent together, he had never looked like this, he had never looked less human, less reasonable. He had never looked more dangerous.

“I could kill you, you know. I should kill you, you horrible, brainless idiot!”

Ludwig wanted to back away but his stiff legs didn’t want to move, his mind empty except from a mocking voice, a laugh telling him how much he had fucked up. He hadn’t thought of Arthur as Death in a long time but now he could barely see anything else. There was death in the growing darkness in his eyes, death in the pulsing shadows beneath his feet, death in the tension of the air surrounding him. Ludwig barely dared to breathe.

“I won’t do it again,” he ground out, the drops of sweat in his neck as cold as ice. “I promise. You… you know me, Arthur. I wouldn’t have done it without a good reason. The kingdom needs King Julius. He’s a good, a kind king.”

Arthur laughed, the sound ugly and harsh, but the tension also seemed to fade from the room, the brightness returning to his gaze. “The kingdom, sure…”

He grimaced, pressing his eyes shut, then sighing and opening them again to look straight into Ludwig’s.

“I forgive you,” Arthur said. “Your father has entrusted me with you after all. Though, I won’t pardon you a second time. If you dare to oppose my direct orders again, you will face the consequences, Ludwig.”

~

Ludwig didn’t see Arthur again for a long time after that, though it was easy to drown out the guilt when there was Feliciana, overflowed with joy at the recovery of her father, sticking to his side as if they were bound by an invisible ribbon. There was a happiness inside him now, a happiness that Ludwig hadn’t quite known before.

More often than not Feliciana ran down all the way from the castle to his house to knock at his door in the early morning, the edges of her dress dirty from mud and dust, demanding he should wake up and join her in the castle garden. Ludwig, despite being slightly annoyed by the lack of sleep, couldn’t help but smile at seeing her, couldn’t help but look forward to their conversations and walks. There was warmth in every second of their joined time. However, it felt like only a heartbeat passed until everything crumbled together like a house in a storm.

One day, there was no Feliciana at his door.

He could only walk to the castle to ask about her, the first tendrils of worry reaching through his body even though he knew it was a bit ridiculous. There were a million possible reasons why she hadn’t been able to come. However, in the end, it did turn out to be the worst one.

“I would have called for you anyway,” King Julius said, eyes dull and tired as if someone had stolen the light from them. He put a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead, then letting the palm rest on his mouth as if trying to stop any unwanted sound from escaping. As if trying not to sob. He took a shaky breath, loud in the mostly empty throne room.

“I don’t know what happened… I… I’ve seen her yesterday. She’s been dancing in her room, laughing and smiling like always, no sign of exhaustion, nothing… and this morning… s-she…”

He sighed, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. “She didn’t wake up… she’s breathing b-but… she just doesn’t wake up. She’s cold… her skin… y-you…”

He took a deep breath looking as if every new word was a stab to his chest. Ludwig would have loved to comfort him but his own heart was aching already, heavy as a stone in the cage of his ribs. He didn’t know if he would be able to keep standing if he so much as moved a finger and lost the tension of his muscles.

“You can see it for yourself,” the king murmured, gaze lowered.

Ludwig swallowed hard before moving to leave. Though, just when he had reached the door, the king’s voice made him stop in his tracks.

“Wait!” he exclaimed and Ludwig turned around to look at him again. “When you’re at my daughter’s bed, you will try everything in your power to cure whatever illness has befallen her.”

“Of course, your highness.”

There was silence, the king’s gaze roaming over him, and it almost seemed as if he wouldn’t say anything more. Though, In the end, he opened his mouth again.

“Ludwig… I'll be honest with you. Feliciana is a wonderful girl. She deserves a long and happy life and s-she… she’s more precious than my own life to me. She’s the only thing her mother has left to me. I… I don’t know what I’d do if she died. You’ve already saved my life, the life of an old, foolish king… how can I compare to her?”

He sighed, the sound broken and small and utterly sad.

“Ludwig, I’ve seen how you look at her. You’re a good man. If you can save her, you have my blessing,” he said, eyes dull but determined. “I promise you her hand in marriage. I promise you the crown and this kingdom. Now go.”

~

When Ludwig entered Feliciana’s room, Arthur was already there. Though, this time Ludwig couldn’t care less as he walked to the bedside with quick steps, heart leaping to his throat with every beat. He needed to see her, needed to see that she hadn’t already died, even if he knew that it couldn’t have happened.

Still, there was relief when he saw the soft blush on her cheeks, paler than usual, yes, but unmistakably alive. His lips were pressed into a tight line when he lifted a trembling hand to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, her breath warm against his flesh. However, when his fingertips grazed her skin, he noticed that it was as cold as ice. He shivered. A lump appeared in his throat, almost hindering him from speaking.

“Feliciana?” he whispered but she didn’t move, she didn’t say anything, of course. She was only breathing, the body relaxed as if she were merely sleeping. But she wasn’t sleeping, was she?

Ludwig felt a pang ring through his chest and he had to close his eyes, clenching his hands into fist for a long moment. Only then did he dare to look for Arthur and found his worst fear revealed.

Arthur was standing at Feliciana’s feet, arms crossed and glaring, though oddly enough it was Feliciana he was glaring at, eyes glowing with something deep and wild, a hatred long nurtured. It didn’t want to fit and Ludwig frowned, wondering what a kind soul like Feliciana could have done to have such resentment directed at her.

However, he couldn’t ask Arthur, not now, not when there was no time, not when Feliciana was in such dire need of help. Arthur’s warning was still in the back of his mind, whispering to him like a malevolent demon, but Ludwig couldn’t just leave the room and tell the king to lose his hope. He couldn’t walk away from Feliciana with the knowledge he wouldn’t ever see her smile again. He couldn’t let her die, wouldn’t have been able to even if there hadn’t been a kingdom and a marriage to win.

Taking a deep breath, he began to remove the blankets from the bed to make it easier for him to turn her around. Though, this time Arthur didn’t stay silent.

“Ludwig,” he growled, voice almost too low to understand. A warning. A warning Ludwig couldn’t take heed of.

He leaned forward to place his arms beneath Feliciana’s body, her cold flesh making his skin burn as he lifted her into the air in a fluent motion. She was barely more than a dead weight in his arms, her breathing too shallow for his liking. His heart skipped a beat, stomach twisting.

 _You can’t die_ , his mind whispered. _I won’t let you_.

“Ludwig,” Arthur growled again, this time more loudly. “Don’t you remember my words?”

Out of the corners of his eyes, Ludwig could see him shake his head as if he couldn’t believe his godchild could be that stupid. Ludwig couldn’t have cared less.

“Do you really want to throw away everything I gave you?!” Arthur was shouting now, hands pressed to fists trembling with anger and frustration. “For a girl you barely know?! You’re crazy if you think she could be what you need, what you really want. Stop this right here and now.”

Ludwig paused, Feliciana’s unconscious form pressed to his chest, the sound of her heartbeat like a bird singing in a cage. She seemed so small like this, so innocent, so beautiful, still, so very beautiful. How could anyone be so cold-hearted to let her die?

Ludwig raised his chin to look into Arthur’s glowering eyes, making his choice. A choice that had always been the only possibility.

“She's what I want, Arthur,” he said, licking his oddly dry lips. “You’re Death. You can’t feel love… but I do, and I love her. I can’t let her die.”

Speaking those words, he placed her body on the mattress again. Though, now it was her head Arthur would be able to touch if he reached out a hand. Now Ludwig would be able to save her. It was only after Ludwig had prepared the tea, when he begun to pour it into Feliciana’s unmoving mouth, feeling her flesh getting warmer with every gulp, that Arthur spoke again. A part of Ludwig wondered what part of his words had silenced him for so long.

“You’re wrong…,” Arthur whispered, pain tainting his words, and that was odd, wasn’t it? “I know love.”

Ludwig looked up at him, expression softening, because he didn’t want to hurt Arthur, and yet he must have done so by opposing his orders once more. “Then you know why I had to save her…”

Arthur snorted, chuckling in an ugly, sad way. He shook his head and walk towards Ludwig and Ludwig froze. It wasn’t that he was scared or in shock, he just couldn’t move his body, not even a finger, as if he had drunk a paralysing poison. He could only stare at Arthur and breathe and feel fear gathering in his very core, blood in his veins transforming into ice.

“You’re a fool, Ludwig,” Arthur said and he reached up to press his palm onto Ludwig’s eyes, blinding him, and there was a blackness even darker than the darkest night. Ludwig was falling, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to speak, and the world turned upside down.

When he opened his eyes again, all he could see were burning candles in a cave, rows over rows of them, some of them small, flickering as if threatening to go out, some long and thick, burning with a flame as high and strong as a young horse.

“W-where… are we?” Ludwig asked, eyes wide and heart racing as if he were running for his life. “W-what…”

He couldn’t continue, tongue heavy in his mouth, and so he pressed his lips together, waiting for Arthur to speak. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Those candles represent the lives of men,” Arthur explained, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “You can imagine what happens when a light gets extinguished.”

Ludwig nodded, throat as dry as the earth he was standing on. He swallowed hard “W-where… where is my candle?”

Arthur pointed to a small end, the little flame dancing and twisting as if fighting for its life. “I can feel it getting weaker… you don’t have much time left. You know what that means, Ludwig. You won’t see her again. You will die.”

 _Oh god_. Ludwig’s heart stopped only to beat twice as quickly, cold and hot shivers running down his back in quick succession, as he tried to remember how to breathe, how to speak.

“N-no…” He shook his head, the cave spinning around him, the lights melting into each other before his eyes. He gulped down, walking up to Arthur with a face twisted by despair and panic. “Please, Arthur, oh g-god… you can’t let that happen, can you? D-do you… do you really want to see me… die? Please, light a new candle for me, Arthur, I beg y-you…”

“I can’t do that,” Arthur said, face as cold as stone. “I can only light a new candle after an old one has died.”

“J-just…” Ludwig grimaces, fear making his thoughts run wild inside his head, body trembling all over. It was getting harder to stay focused by the minute. “Just place the old candle on a new one, that should work… please, Arthur, you can’t h-hate me… not after everything we’ve been through… please…”

Arthur’s gaze softened, something flickering through his eyes that wasn’t hatred or disgust or even anger. Oddly enough, it reminded Ludwig of Feliciana of all people, but why would Arthur look at him like she had? Why would he…

“I could do that,” Arthur whispered, turning away from Ludwig to face his dying candle. For a moment there was hope surging through Ludwig’s body in warm waves, for a moment he really thought Arthur would help him live.

However, Arthur didn’t do it. He turned back to him, a sad smile on his face as he reached up to cup Ludwig’s cheek, thumb drawing gentle circles on his skin. It was ironic, really. Ludwig sighed, the sound strained and full of pain. His body went numb even before Arthur spoke because he knew what he would say. Perhaps he had already known it for a long, long time, the knowledge hidden in the depths of his heart to come to life in the last possible moment.

“I’m sorry, Ludwig,” Arthur said and Ludwig knew that he really meant it. He knew it because he knew the warmth ringing through his syllables. It was the same warmth he himself had felt at every one of Feliciana’s words.

Arthur slowly shook his head, his smile barely more than a grimace now. “I… I just can’t let her have you.”

There was a gust of wind, a last flicker of his candle’s flame. Then there was darkness.

_The doctor fell on the ground, and now he himself was in the hands of Death._

~

~

~


	2. The Frogprince (USUK)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to the Original](https://www.seiyaku.com/lit/grimm/en/001.html)

**The Frogprince**

~

~

~

England as _Prince Arthur_

America as the _Frogprince_

Older!Scotland as _King Alistor_

~

_In the old times, when it was still of some use to wish for the thing one wanted, there lived a King whose sons were all handsome, but the youngest was so beautiful that the sun himself, who has seen so much, wondered each time he shone over him because of his beauty._

_Near the royal castle there was a great dark wood, and in the wood under an old linden-tree was a well; and when the day was hot, the King's son used to go forth into the wood and sit by the brink of the cool well, and if the time seemed long, he would take out a golden ball, and throw it up and catch it again, and this was his favourite pastime…_

“What a boring day,” Arthur muttered to himself, easily catching his ball with one hand, its surface glimmering in the sun light. He sighed. It would have been a good day for a walk in the castle garden but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it alone. He wouldn’t admit it but he was feeling a bit lonely since his brothers had married, thereby leaving him alone with his father, King Alistor, and a terribly empty castle. Perhaps he should summon a few servants to hunt in the forest with?

Arthur pursed his lips, brows contracted, considering the idea while throwing the ball into the air. _No, it’s way too hot for that_ , he thought, grimacing. _It’s too hot for anything, really_.

He reached out to catch the ball again, could almost feel its weight lying in his palm again, the surface as smooth as the scales of a fish. Though the tips of his fingers barely grazed it before it slipped out of his grip and fell down the well, meeting the water with a soft splash. Perhaps it had been his sweaty skin, perhaps a straying ray of the sun blinding him, but the ball was gone.

Wide-eyed, Arthur couldn’t help but stare at the small waves circling the water where his ball, the only thing able to cure his boredom, had broken its surface to never be seen again. Because how the hell was he supposed to get it back?

He began to shake his head, hands clenched into fists, mind spinning in desperate attempts at finding a solution.

“Thrice damned well,” he snarled, glaring at the unmoving object as if it would spit out his ball if he just insulted it hard enough. Tears of anger made his eyes sting but he blinked them away as soon as his view got blurry. “Now I’ve been robbed of this as well… God must be hating me!”

Arthur had to resist the urge to kick the weathered stones, knowing fully well he would be the one howling in pain if he did so. Still, it was a quite tempting idea.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you, Prince Arthur?” an unfamiliar voice asked. “What’s angering you on such a beautiful day?”

Arthur froze, a frown slipping over his angry expression. He looked around, half-expecting a servant to leap out of the tree’s crown, though there was no one to be seen. He was alone. Was it perhaps a ghost haunting these grounds? A fairy, too small to be seen, and ready to grant him his heart’s desire?

His frustration fled at the prospect of a fantastical adventure, a small grin grazing his lips. Though, it wasn’t long before he discovered the true source of the voice. It couldn’t have been more disappointing. There, swimming in the water of the well, was a frog, as green as the grass Arthur was standing on, though there was something about its gaze that didn’t seem quite animalistic, almost human even. And it was staring straight at Arthur.

“It… eh, it was you who spoke?” Arthur muttered, lips a thin line. His neck was prickling as a part of him wondered how far he had sunk if he was starting to talk to animals out of boredom now. He was willing to believe in a lot, but talking frogs? Didn’t seem too likely. Where was the adventure, the fun, the danger in talking frogs?

Still, he couldn’t help but be amazed when it opened its massive mouth and began to speak just like a human would.

“Sure.” The frog’s face twisted into something others might have called a grin. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re not screaming and running away like that girl from the kitchen. I was really getting worried that… eh, well, whatever. How can I help you, my dear prince?”

 _Perhaps that girl from the kitchen hadn’t been dying of boredom_ , Arthur thought, a part of him considering to just walk away and let someone else deal with this weird frog and his weird human voice. However, a memory ran through his mind, a flicker of gold, a soft splash, and then he was grinning again. Perhaps talking frogs had their uses after all.

“I lost my golden ball that I use to chase away my boredom… it slipped out of my hands and into your well,” Arthur explained, cheeks reddening slightly as he recalled the embarrassing incident. “You can’t dive to the ground and fetch it for me, can you?”

“Oh, I can totally do that! No problem,” the frog said, gaze brightening, if that was possible. “Though, I’d like to have something in return. You’re okay with that?”

Arthur raised a brow, licking his lips. Something told him he shouldn’t agree without knowing what he should give away in the first place. Though, what could a frog want from him anyway? He nodded.

“You can have whatever you want if I get my ball back,” he said. “My father, the King, will be able to provide you with whatever you wish for… jewels, books, a crown… your choice.”

“Well… I wouldn’t say that I don’t like jewels but… it’s something else I want. From you, not from the king.” For a moment it seemed almost embarrassed, mouth working as if it couldn’t quite find the right words. Arthur was starting to get annoyed just when it opened its lips to continue.

“I want to keep you company, share your meal and drink with you… sleep in your bed with you… those are my conditions.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. What an odd wish. Though, the frog could help him get his golden ball back and it wasn’t like he had to go through with this whole thing anyway, was it? He was human, the frog not. It wouldn’t be able to keep him company even if it wanted to. Its home was the well, its food flies and spiders. How could it even hope to be anything else than a dirty animal to him?

Still, he nodded because he was growing bored of this conversation and he didn’t want to lose any more time that could be better spent playing with his ball. At a place without any kind of talking animals, of course.

“I agree with your conditions… frog.”

The frog only grinned its odd animal grin. “See you in a second, prince!”

Arthur watched it disappear into the water, arms crossed and a foot tapping on the ground while he waited. Somewhere a bird was singing its mating song and out of the corners of his eye he could see bees hovering over a bunch of dandelions. He still couldn’t see another human and he sincerely hoped it stayed that way. What would his father say if he saw him talking to a frog?

Arthur grimaced, shuddering. No, that mustn’t happen. It was then that the water’s surface broke. There was a glimmer of green and gold flickering through the air as the frog leapt to the edge of the well and a second later Arthur’s golden ball was lying on the meadow, framed by stalks of grass and shining as if nothing had happened.

“You’re welcome,” the frog said, but Arthur was hardly listening.

Smiling, he leaned down to grab his ball, wiping it dry on the sleeve of his white shirt. Without a word or even a last glance to the well, he turned around and began to walk towards the castle. He had spent enough time outside anyway. The library should be comfortably cool, right?

“Wait! I’m not as quick as you… Arthur, hey! What about your promise?!”

Perhaps he shouldn’t spend that much time alone… he was beginning to hear voices that weren’t real. Still, it couldn’t be bad to walk a bit more quickly, could it?

~

After a good night’s sleep Arthur was convinced the whole incident had been a dream. And what a crazy dream it had been! A talking frog wanting to share his meal and bed, ha! Perhaps there would be a singing horse in the next night. That would be impressive, wouldn’t it?

Still, as much as Arthur pretended not to care, as much as he managed to talk himself into believing in a dream, he couldn’t help but feel guilt twisting his insides. It made him skip breakfast and in the afternoon, sitting by the window in his room, the sun warming his back, he couldn’t quite get the same delight as usual out of playing with his ball. In the end, he placed it back onto his night shelf and continued the book about a soldier’s adventures he had begun the evening before. He threw it against the wall just a few moments later, though, annoyed by the protagonist’s complete stupidity. Perhaps that was why he was almost glad to be called for dinner even though he had come to dislike being alone with his father, quickly irritated by the same annoying topics he always wanted to discuss.

That day wasn’t any different in that matter, unfortunately.

“So… did you read the letter from Count Francis’ daughter?” King Alistor raised a bushy red eyebrow, gaze directed at the piece of smoked goose breast lying on his plate, deliberately avoiding Arthur’s eyes. “What was her name again? Mary? Marlene?”

“Michelle,” Arthur ground out, knowing better than to ignore his father’s question. Still, he pulled his lips back as if he had bitten into a rotten apple. The potato he had lifted to his mouth didn’t seem that appealing anymore and he let it fall back on his plate. The mere thought of Count Francis’ increasingly desperate attempts to make him fall in love with his nice but boring daughter made him shudder.

“And no, I haven’t read it.” He hadn’t even read the one before that. Instead, he had simply sent away a short message apologising for the delay after he had noticed it lying on his shelf one day. Wanting to keep up the pretence, he had scribbled down a few notes about his daily life as well but nothing could have indicated any further interest. The mere appearance of a new letter had been nothing short of a mystery to him and, in all honesty, he had considered burning it in the chimney fire.

“You should. Why reading all those ridiculous books when there’s a letter from a lovely young lady waiting for you?” His father snorted, shaking his head as if personally attacked by Arthur’s indifference towards Michelle. “It’s no wonder your brothers are happily married and you’re still here, lounging in your room all day. You’re lucky you got my good looks or you would be much worse off, trust me.”

Temper flaring up, Arthur opened his mouth to defend himself, eyes narrowing to small slits. However, before he could even utter the first syllable, there was a knock on the door. A rather quiet one, but audible, nevertheless. Loud enough for him to pause, to frown. They weren’t expecting any guests, were they?

“Arthur, open the door,” King Alistor said before taking a sip from his mug of beer.

Arthur, grateful for any excuse that brought him farther away from his father and the discussion about marriages and older brothers, stood up and crossed the room with long strides and hands clenched into fists. Perhaps he would even be able to sneak off to his room after greeting whoever was waiting behind that door. Smiling to himself at that thought, he pushed down the handle of the great wooden door, pulling it open.

And shutting it almost immediately, eyes wide and unblinking, the smile wiped from his face. He felt as if he had walked straight into a snow storm, ice clinging to his skin as if trying to freeze his very bones. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, shock and disbelief battling in his mind, making him dizzy. His eyes must have deceived him, right?

It couldn’t be that this damn frog had crawled all the way from the well to their castle to wait behind this door. It couldn’t be.

“Arthur, who’s behind the door?” King Alistor asked and Arthur felt his stomach turn upside down. He swallowed hard, legs trembling as he made a hesitant step backwards. He couldn’t help but stare at the door, convinced it would burst open as if enchanted by a dark witch and reveal his embarrassing promise.

“Eh… no one, father,” Arthur mumbled, suppressing the urge to rub his neck. “It must have been the wind.”

There was silence, the kind of silence that was tense as a taut rope, that you were itching to break and yet couldn’t. As the seconds trickled by Arthur felt hope rekindle in his chest, hope that it had been a trick of the eye after all, or that the damn frog had decided to give up on him after all. Though, his heartbeat had only just begun to calm down a bit when a horribly familiar voice echoed through the room, muffled by the wall between them.

“You made a promise, Prince Arthur! I helped you and that’s how you thank me?! You’re so mean,” the frog said, the sour note of his voice somehow reminding Arthur of a disappointed child. “Open the door!”

 _Damn_. Arthur clenched his teeth, closing his eyes to brace himself for the upcoming storm. He wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of this situation, would he?

“Arthur,” his father growled and Arthur didn’t dare to turn around and look at him. “Who’s that? Is there something you need to tell me?”

Arthur gulped down the bile rising in his throat before taking a deep breath, face flushing as if he had spent a whole day in the summer’s sun light.

“Perhaps… I mean, yes,” he muttered, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help chasing away his anxiety at all. “I might have met a, eh, a talking frog at the well… I’d lost my golden ball and it fetched it for me. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see King Alistor frown.

“There’s a… a _frog_ waiting behind that door? My god, what did you promise it that it went all the way to the castle for you? Your hand in marriage?”

His father burst into laughter, laughter so loud and barking and boisterous as if he hadn’t had such a terribly amusing thought in a while. It faded only after a few long moments and even then there was still a wide grin twisting the lines of his face. Arthur, expression darkening, had to resist the urge to walk up to him and pour him his own beer over the head.

“This is no laughing matter!” he snarled even though he knew fully well that his words couldn’t have less of the desired effect on his father. “And no, I didn’t do that, thank you very much for your words of comfort.”

Oddly enough, his father’s face grew almost serious all of a sudden, his brows furrowed. “Still, you promised it something, didn’t you?”

Arthur pursed his lips, then opened his mouth to deny everything. Before the first word could go past his lips, though, he paused, a small pang of guilt ranging through his chest. He sighed, nodding.

“Well… then you have to open the door and go through with it,” King Alistair said, lifting a hand to make a sweeping gesture towards the door. “I don’t want anyone to think the Kirkland’s don’t keep their promises.”

He arched a brow at Arthur. “What are you waiting for? Go.”

Arthur winced but he could hardly argue with his father’s words and a part of him knew that he was right. Still, it felt as if the air were made of syrup as he began his slow walk back to the door, a weight settling on his shoulders that felt like a shirt made of pure iron. Jaw locked tight, Arthur glared at the door as if it were single-handedly responsible for all the bad things in his life. _Damn frog_ , he thought. _Damn well and damn golden ball that brought me into this situation in the first place._

A part of Arthur had hoped the cook’s cat had come by for a stroll and a late meal but he hadn’t been lucky, it seemed. The frog hadn’t moved since he had opened the door for the first time, still displaying the same grin which only widened at seeing Arthur again. Arthur couldn’t have been less delighted himself.

“It’s good to see you again,” the frog said.

Arthur couldn’t have disagreed more. Though, he had to admit that its stubbornness was impressive. After he had not only left it at the well but also ignored it in the castle while lying to the king about the promise, it was a miracle the frog had still anything like sympathy left for him. It was a miracle it still wanted him to go through with what he had promised and a part of Arthur wondered if it wasn’t just doing it to vex him now. It couldn’t possibly want to spend time with him, could it?

“I won’t speak any more words than necessary with you,” Arthur said, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m… I’m grateful for having my ball back but those things you asked of me…” He paused, lips ajar. _Are crazy? Shouldn’t be done by a frog? Couldn’t have been further from what I’ve expected?_

“I didn’t think you were… serious,” Arthur finished, the odd urge to cross his arms sparking through his body. His neck was prickling with a special kind of shame and he hoped it wasn’t too obvious how much he would have preferred to barricade himself in his room right now. He rolled his eyes. “Still, I’ll go through with your darn promise, okay?”

“I knew you weren't a bad guy, Artie!”

Arthur cringed, momentarily frozen in disbelief, his body itching all over. “D-don’t… don’t do that again. My name’s not… _Artie_.”

He pronounced it the same way he would have pronounced _Count Francis_ or _bubonic plague_. What did the frog think it was? His new best friend? How ridiculous.

“Well, if you say so…” The frog looked as if it would have pouted if it were human enough to do it.

“Let’s eat then.” It threw a glance to the table, a table that was unmistakably made for _humans_ to sit at, for _humans_ to eat from. “Though, I think you’ll have to pick me up first.”

_Oh god, no._

Arthur closed his eyes, taking a deep breath while counting to five inside his head. He had made a promise, hadn’t he? The sooner he would be done with this the better. It wouldn’t do to torture himself by trying to avoid the unavoidability.

“Fine!” he spat out like a rancid piece of butter, bending down to let the frog crawl onto his palm.

It was hard not to flinch when his fingertips brushed the frog’s cold, slimy skin and he had to hold his breath to keep the nausea at bay. He had never run back to his seat next to his father that quickly, the flesh the frog was touching burning as if grazed by poison. He could barely keep himself from shuddering, even after he had placed it on the table and had wiped his hands on his clothes.

The frog, however, didn’t appear to be bothered by Arthur’s obvious signs of disgust and discomfort. Perhaps it wasn’t even noticing them as it began to crawl towards Arthur’s almost untouched plate. If Arthur hadn’t already decided to skip today’s dinner, he would have now.

“This looks really good,” the frog said. “You must have an amazing cook!”

Arthur crossed his arms, refusing to look at the smug grin his father was surely displaying. The bastard was enjoying this entirely too much but Arthur could hardly tell the King to leave his own castle, could he?

“I don’t particularly care for poultry,” Arthur muttered. He followed the frog’s tentative first bites with his eyes, a bizarre kind of curiosity swinging through him. It was the same way your gaze was drawn to a pair of drunk men fighting each other. You knew it couldn’t end well, and later you would wonder what had made you watch in the first place, but something kept you from averting your eyes.

He frowned. “Shouldn’t you be eating flies… or, I don’t know… insects?”

The frog’s whole body seemed to tremble with disgust, eyes almost comically wide. “Ew, insects… I’m not that desperate yet!”

The answer only deepened Arthur’s frown and confusion began to replace the tense anger in his veins. What an odd thing to say for a frog. For a human, however… though, that couldn’t be, right? He shook his head, trying to lose the idea dancing through his brain like an annoying bee buzzing around your head.

“Don’t you want to eat anymore, Arthur?” the frog asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Uh… I’m not really hungry to be honest…,” Arthur mumbled after a few embarrassing seconds of struggling to remember the question. “I… _gladly_ leave the lion’s share to you.”

Stomach churning, he wouldn’t have been able to gulp down more than a few crumbs of dry bread anyway.

“Oh, thank you,” the frog grinned, and it couldn’t really be that gullible, could it? Arthur lowered his gaze, glowering at the fidgeting hands in his lap, guilt making a lump form in his throat. He swallowed hard, then clenched his teeth. That damn frog was making him feel bad about a situation _he_ was the victim of!

Luckily, it wasn’t long before the frog seemed to decide it wasn’t hungry anymore. After Arthur, trying not to grimace, had helped it to a few sips out of his own glass of red wine, its head rose to focus on him.

“I don’t know about you but I’m pretty tired right now…,” it said, accompanying the words with a yawn. “How about we go to sleep?”

Arthur furrowed his brows until he remembered their conversation at the well, the conditions the frog had raised. _I want to keep you company, share your meal and drink with you… sleep in your bed with you…_

The sound escaping from his throat was something between a sigh and a groan. His hand found its way to his face as if trying to shield it from the more than unpleasant reality.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Arthur, do I need to remind you of your duties as not only a prince but also as a Kirkland and my son?” King Alistor shook his head, though the earnestness of his tone was somewhat compromised by the smirk dancing around the corners of his lips. “You won’t break your promise.”

Arthur shot a glare at him but it was like attacking a stone wall with a kitchen knife, a pointless endeavour. Nostrils flaring, he let the breath out of his lungs, then inhaled slowly and consciously. He directed his gaze at the frog again.

“You’re tired, great,” he ground out, voice sharp with sarcasm and barely concealed anger. “Let’s show you to your rooms then, shall we?”

Without waiting for a reply or, god forbid, another comment from his horrible father, Arthur pushed himself to a stand reaching out to pick up the frog with his index finger and thumb, the sleek skin almost slipping through his grip.

“Be careful!” the frog gasped and Arthur couldn’t help but feel a sliver of satisfaction running through his body at seeing it lose its composure. _Look, you’re not the only one who can make others’ lives miserable_ , the easily irritated part of his mind murmured.

“Calm down, we don’t even have to take the stairs…,” he muttered, rolling his eyes while leaving the dining room to walk to his own room. “You’ll be fine,” he added after a moment of thought even though he wasn’t entirely sure why he had said that.

~

“Oh, you must love reading!” the frog said as soon as they had arrived in Arthur’s room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many books in one place… not talking about libraries, of course.”

“A frog that can not only talk but read as well?” Arthur mused, shaking his head. “What kind of animal are you?”

“Well, to be honest I’m not much of an avid reader…,” the frog replied, crawling a bit closer to one of Arthur’s book shelves and leaving glimmering wet trails on the floor. Face darkening, Arthur had to resist the urge to pick it right back up or, better yet, kick him out of his room with his boots so that it wouldn’t even come close to messing it up. “It’s not like I don’t like reading… I just like other things more… and the books my mother gave me were a chore to struggle through…”

“You probably haven’t found the right ones yet…,” Arthur mumbled absentmindedly, forgetting who he was talking to as he slipped out of his shoes to sit down on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head propped up in his hands. He sighed and closed his eyes, memories flying through his mind, pictures of his brothers laughing about his poor swordfight skills, the voice of his father scolding him for wasting his time studying instead of doing something useful.

“You’ve read all of these? That’s impressive,” the frog said, and maybe that was the first time Arthur didn’t feel like smacking it on its slimy, green head and glaring at it. Yes, he could even feel the tension fading from his limps, a small smile making the corners of his mouth twitch. Of course, that was when the darn animal had to ruin everything.

“Hey, Artie, I don’t think I can jump high enough to reach your bed… give me a hand, yeah?”

Arthur’s eyes shot open as if he had burned himself.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he growled without even the barest hint of amusement in his voice. “I can’t sleep with an animal hiding beneath my blankets.”

“B-but… you made a promise, Arthur! Your father said you-“

_My father is an idiot and a fool and he’s just saying that because he hates me._

“I let you eat from my plate and drink from my wine, isn’t that enough? Trust me, many a peasant would have given their left arm for that honour.” Arthur shook his head, fury raging through him so violently he had to stand up, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from crying out loud. “Sleep on the floor for all I care!”

Silence stretched itself across the room and Arthur almost believed he had successfully silenced the frog for good until its annoying voice echoed through the air once more.

“No, you have to keep your promise, Arthur, y-you… you have to. I’ll go to your father and speak to him, if you don’t comply.”

Arthur spun around, blood burning in his veins, and he couldn’t see straight anymore. He crossed the room with a few hurrying steps, pulse rushing through his ears, until he had reached the frog.

“Yeah?!” he snarled. “Try to talk to my father now, git!”

His mind was empty and his heart full, full of years of disappointment and frustration. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down, from grabbing this overly talkative and terribly annoying animal and throwing it against the wall with every ounce of strength left in his body. His heart stopped as soon as he heard a shattering thump, oddly loud for a mere impact with the wall, drowning out every other sound until it was the only noise ringing through his mind. _Oh god, what have I done_? Arthur thought, lips and hands trembling. Cold spread through his body where heat had been only moments ago. _I haven’t killed it, have I?_

However, after he had shaken the dizziness from his mind and dared to look for the frog, there was no animal to be seen.

Instead, there was a young man sprawled on the floor, blond hair ruffled where it was pressed against the wall, the brightest blue eyes Arthur had ever seen wide with shock and the last fading bits of fear. He raised a hand to rub his head, his expression twisting into a grimace of pain, his mouth ajar as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. “Ouch, that hurt… but not as bad as I thought it would… weird…”

“Who the hell are you and what happened to that darn frog?” Arthur demanded to know, his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. His startled heart was beating as fast as a fleeing rabbit in his chest, but he tried not to let his nervousness be shown.

“Arthur?” the stranger whispered, furrowing his brows. Though, before Arthur could say so much as a word, his eyes had widened again, a sparkle running through them that reminded Arthur of a sun ray piercing through the clouds in the sky. They were really pretty, those eyes.

“Arthur!” the man grinned as if he hadn’t had such a beautiful reason to grin in a long time, dimples appearing in his cheeks. He pushed himself off the floor, lifting his hands to let his eyes roam over them, the same glint in his gaze that a child had seeing the sea for the first time. “You did it, you really did it… I can’t believe it… it worked… in a way, at least.”

_What?!_

He looked up to meet Arthur’s gaze. Arthur had hardly time to take a deep breath, itching to let go of the questions gathering in the back of his mind, before the man strode up to him and placed his hands on his cheeks to pull him into a kiss. Though, it was too short for Arthur to do anything other than stare, frozen like a deer facing the hunter.

“Oh, thank you so much, Arthur!” the man said stepping away, his smile wide and warm and oddly attractive, and Arthur couldn’t quite bring himself to be angry with him. It was only then that he realised what must have happened, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Y-you… _you_ were the frog?” he muttered, still unable to truly believe it despite the overwhelming evidence.

“Oh, right… you…” The man chuckled nervously, lifting a hand to rub his neck as his eyes wandered away as if trying not to meet Arthur’s gaze. “Eh, yes. I was the frog. I’m not really a frog, you know. A witch cursed me and I’ve been desperately looking for the right person to lift the spell ever since… until I met you. I knew you would be able to help me right away, Artie!”

He gave him another bright grin and Arthur couldn’t help but return it.

“My name’s Alfred, by the way. Prince Alfred, actually. My father’s the king from the neighbouring country. Would you like me to show it to you and make up for some of my, eh, inappropriate behaviour?”

Arthur swallowed hard, neck tingling with guilt and shame. “Well…,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze. “Only if you let me apologise for mine. I’m sorry… I was terribly mean to you.”

“I expected much worse, to be honest. It’s fine, Arthur. It really is.”

Alfred let a hand rest against his cheek to lift his chin and when they kissed, it was the beginning of a great future. A future Arthur couldn’t wait to discover.

_And it came to pass that, with his father's consent, they were to be married. And there came to the door a carriage drawn by eight white horses, with white plumes on their heads, and with golden harness, and behind the carriage was standing faithful Matthew, the brother of the young prince. Now, faithful Matthew had suffered such care and pain when his brother was turned into a frog, that he had been obliged to wear three iron bands over his heart, to keep it from breaking with trouble and anxiety. When the carriage started to take the prince to his kingdom, and faithful Matthew had helped them both in, he got up behind, and was full of joy at his brother's deliverance._

_And when they had gone a part of the way, the prince heard a sound at the back of the carriage, as if something had broken._

_Again, and yet once again there was the same sound, and the prince thought it must be the wheel breaking, but it was the breaking of the bands from faithful Matthew's heart, because it was now so relieved and happy._

_~_

_~_

_~_


	3. King Thrushbeard (RusPru)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to the original](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Grimm%27s_Household_Tales,_Volume_1/King_Thrushbeard)

**King Thrushbeard**

~

Germania as _King Adalwin_

Prussia as _Prince Gilbert_

Germany as _Prince Ludwig_

Russia as _King Ivan_

Ukraine and Belarus as _the king’s sisters_

Denmark, England, and Hungary as _three_ _suitors_

~

_A king had a son who was beautiful beyond all measure, but so proud and haughty withal that no suitor was good enough for him. He sent away one after the other, and ridiculed them as well._

_Once the king made a great feast and invited thereto, from far and near, all the young men likely to marry..._

“I don’t know why he even bothers,” Gilbert grumbled. He shot the servant who was trying to adjust his richly adorned jacket a glare that made the poor man’s hands shake, a glare that was like a page out of a children’s book of the castle’s library. Easy to read and almost scarily familiar.

“Father has told you why it’s important for you to marry. I won’t repeat his words for a third time,” Ludwig muttered. He sighed, furrowing his brows as his eyes followed the frightened servant out of the room. “Marriage can’t be that bad. You get to choose your future husband, isn’t that something?”

“If you like it that much why don’t _you_ get married in my place?” Gilbert snarled. It had been months since King Adalwin had first told him he had to marry to secure the kingdom’s safety and the king’s popularity with the townspeople, and he could still feel the invisible punch in the gut those words had provoked. There had been yelling and broken dinner plates and a ruined pork stew, but in the end Gilbert had been forced to agree.

That didn’t mean he was going down without a fight, though.

This feast was just another step on a road with a dead end, Gilbert was sure of that. Still, it was an annoying one.

“Father already promised the youngest son of the Vargas family my hand in marriage. You know that,” his brother said as if he were talking to a child. He didn’t say _Father wants you to be as far away from him as possible_ or _Father thinks you’re more useful as a prize to sell_ , but to Gilbert, he might as well have said so.

He snorted to drown out the low pain somewhere in his chest, though it didn’t quite want to work.

“I won’t marry one of those ugly fools screaming for my attention and secretly yearning for pockets full of money, power and jewels. No, thank you. The only one worthy of me is myself.”

Ludwig, looking as though he was once again tiring of this conversation, let the breath out of his lungs. A dark frown was hiding between the lines of his face, just waiting to see the light.

“Father won’t stop trying, Gilbert. Sooner or later you might find yourself in a much worse situation.”

Gilbert could only laugh.

~

The first one was a grinning idiot who didn’t waste any time running to him as soon as Gilbert made his way onto the polished floor of the ballroom.

The man, blue eyed with blond hair as wild as if it hadn’t been a day since his last ride to a battlefield, told him his name and Gilbert couldn’t care less. He continued with topics Gilbert couldn’t care less about either, voice loud and boisterous and so damn irritating. How could he think he had even the tiniest wisp of a chance?

Gilbert rolled his eyes, stopping with a short gesture what might have been a lengthy tale of braveness and tragedy.

“Let me guess, you’ve killed at least three bears with your bare hands and solely protected your kingdom against an army of ten thousand,” he said, raising a brow, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Though, if you’re that quick to come I’m worried about whoever warms your bed.”

Gilbert gave the silenced man his brightest grin before walking away without another word. A part of him hoped that everyone within earshot didn’t dare to approach him anymore.

Sadly, some people weren’t only dumb to appear here in the first place but deaf as well.

The second one was Prince Arthur of Britannia, and the only reason he had even remembered that name was Arthur’s annoying habit to drop his title at least once every five sentences. _Yeah, your father’s kingdom is greater than ours, how interesting that you will be ruling one day, such a shame we don’t drink much tea here, yadda yadda._ Horrible.

Almost as horrible as those eyebrows Gilbert had mistaken for a pair of quite hairy caterpillars at first. Arthur hadn’t liked it when he had gallantly proposed to get rid of those plagues for him.

He tried to ignore the disapproving glances Ludwig was casting at him whenever he thought it wasn’t too obvious. The tingling sensation in his neck liked to remind him of them, though.

 _This isn’t your life, Lutz_ , Gilbert thought, narrowing his eyes. _I am the one deciding over my life and no one else. I won’t get married. Why don’t you get that into your stubborn head?_

It was only the sixteenth one that made Gilbert almost reconsider his opinion on marriage.

Elizabeta was attractive enough and seemed as tough as half the remaining princes put together which also made her much more suitable to someone as great as Gilbert. She didn’t shy away from his snarky comments and she didn’t seem to want him for his looks or the title. Sadly, she didn’t seem to want him at all.

“Only wanted to see what all the fuzz was about.” She shrugged. “And wanted to keep up the pretence. I don’t really want to get married either, you know.”

She spent the rest of the evening with some giggling ladies on the other end of the room, looking as if she would rather leap out of the window than to participate in any more fake conversations. Or maybe those were Gilbert’s thoughts.

After another dozen or so rejected princes and princesses, kings and queens, new faces were only blurry specks of colour. Gilbert always hurried to be the first to speak, to cut off any chances at a lengthy conversation. The more quickly he would be done with this the better.

It wasn’t even midnight when Gilbert found himself able to walk across the hall without a string of obedient puppies following his every step, yes, it even seemed as if the remaining marriage candidates had silently agreed he wasn’t worth the pursuit anymore. Taking a few sips from a glass of burgundy wine, Gilbert couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps this whole ordeal was finally over.

That was until the great entry door opened once again, and that was unusual. It should have been far too late for any new suitors to arrive, and yet that was what happened.

There were three of them, though Gilbert was quick to realise they belonged to the same kingdom, to the same family.

The girl on the right didn’t appear to be past sixteen, long platinum blonde hair cascading down her back, bangs almost hiding what was a gaze of utter coldness and disgust, a gaze made of ice, and Gilbert swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from shuddering. She was pretty in the way a cliff with its ragged face and artful scenery was pretty. There was something in her look, in her posture that made you want to run away and hide.

If that girl was the moon, the girl on the left was the sun. A friendly, if slightly nervous smile lit up her face and she was looking around with the curious admiration of a child that was seldom to be found in adults. Even though her short blond hair was tied back with a blue ribbon in a way only young girls were doing it, she appeared to be close to thirty.

They were framing the man standing between them like two wings of an angel, ready to unfold, to fly away, if necessary. There was no doubt he was the important player in their game of chess and they only the observers, the advisers, the guardians, maybe. It was evident in every one of their carefully placed steps.

Gilbert hadn’t seen this man before. Maybe that was the reason his mind was empty like their city's streets during a storm.

His face was all hard lines and edges, the nose slightly crooked as if it hadn’t quite healed from a punch yet. His blond hair wasn’t unsimilar to Ludwig’s, but it was paler, almost as if it were only a reflection in a dusty mirror. He looked around the room with a shadow of reluctant curiosity, but only out of the corners of his eyes, with the smallest twitch of his head, as if he couldn’t risk showing too many emotions at once. As if he didn’t quite know how.

 _They’re not from here_ , Gilbert realised. _They’ve come from far away. Perhaps even as far away as beyond the mountains._

He didn’t say anything but maybe it was enough to stand in the centre of the room, maybe it was enough to be called Prince Gilbert of Beilschmidt to have everyone’s eyes on you. This was no exception.

The man’s gaze rose to find him, a sliver of a smile dancing around the corners of his mouth. He didn’t come running like that first suitor, no, his steps were almost comically slow, steady, as if he had all the time in the world, as if it hadn’t been him and his sisters that had arrived far too late.

Gilbert clenched his teet, narrowing his eyes. Who was this man striding around with a confidence as if this kingdom already belonged to him?

Captured by his thoughts, he only realised he was being talked to in the last possible second. There went his plan to quickly dispose of unwanted suitors by talking first.

“Don’t you want to introduce yourself and the castle to me… my dear prince?” the strange man said, his smile now as present as the playful glint in his bluish eyes. The term of endearment felt more like an insult, especially with his pronunciation. The words sounded raspy and humming as if there were something stuck in his throat, undeniable evidence of him being a stranger in this country.

Gilbert bit back the urge to stop this charade then and there and let his curiosity take over. “I don’t see the necessity… you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know me and I wouldn’t be here, either. You’ve heard of me, so you must also know it was a pointless journey you’ve made.”

He gave him a cold smirk. “I suggest going back to the hole you’ve crawled out of.”

The man wasn’t fazed by his words, or at least he pretended not to be so convincingly enough. He only tilted his head as if observing Gilbert for a moment before making a gesture to the silent women at his sides.

“Those are my sisters, Natalia and Katyusha. They kindly agreed to accompany me to your father’s kingdom.” His face brightened slightly. “My name is Ivan Braginsky. I became king after by father’s illness took a tragic turn last year.”

Gilbert pursed his lips, raising a brow. “Do they cut out the women’s tongues in your kingdom or why can’t they speak for themselves? Have you done it yourself? Must I fear to lose mine as well?”

His eyes widened in feigned shock. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ludwig’s lips quiver slightly, the muscles tense, as if it were only his sheer power of will stopping him from intervening. Or perhaps he was just too appalled to do so. King Adalwin as well, probably, otherwise he would have said something already.

“How dare you suggest such a thing, you-!” the younger sister yelled, murder written in her gaze and the trembling tension of her fists. It didn’t take more than a few words from her brother to calm her down, though, even if her burning glare remained. Perhaps not an ice queen after all.

“Quiet, Natalia. I’m certain he doesn’t mean it that way.” Ivan’s eyes darkened to a shade of purple, the jaw working, but his smile didn’t fade. He focused on Gilbert. “I prefer my court alive and healthy, if that answers your question.”

_Why can’t you just give up?_

Gilbert snorted, showing his teeth. The evening had been long and exhausting and he really had no fucks left to give.

“I see. Verbal threats instead of physical punishment, nice job,” he jeered, an ugly laugh hiding in the back of his throat. “But maybe that’s normal in that shithole you’re coming from. No surprise really, given those thick coats… I mean, who wouldn’t go crazy shuffling through snow every hour of a sunless day? Your people can’t even talk properly! A bunch of brainless barbarians, I bet, too ugly to be in the light and risk getting seen. What are you even doing here?!”

He shook his head, anger sparking through every vein of his body. Anger with Ivan’s unswerving confidence and his piercing eyes that seemed to look right into the depths of his soul. Anger with his always complying brother. Anger with his father and this marriage he was forcing upon Gilbert. Anger with himself, because he could barely do anything against it.

“You’re no real king, Ivan,” he spat out like a rotten apple. “You’re a king of savages. And I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last person on earth.”

Certain he had made his point clear, he turned around and left the ballroom, leaving behind a tense silence and an explosion yet to come.

~

“Gilbert… I really expected more from you.” His father shook his head, arms crossed. His long blond hair was ruffled from being thrown around during the last hour he had spent walking in circles around the room. It was only now that he had stopped to look at Gilbert.

Gilbert would have preferred if he had continued grinding circles into the floor. Everything would have been better than facing this gaze, seeing the disappointment, the frustration and wrath pooling in his eyes. It made him feel like a child, small and confused and utterly helpless, and a part of him wondered if he hadn’t gone too far. Ludwig or any of the servants weren’t present either, so he couldn’t even try to distract himself.

He clenched his teeth so tightly it hurt. At least King Adalwin wasn’t yelling at him anymore, though the silence only felt like the quiet before the storm.

“Congratulations. You’ve successfully rejected every single one of the noblemen and women willing to marry you…” He snorted in a way that made Gilbert shudder, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “What do you want to do now? Gilbert? What do you think could possibly be your future now?”

Gilbert thought those were only theoretical questions, so it took him a few moments, frozen beneath this cold gaze, to realise that his father expected an answer from him.

He gave a painfully slow shrug, rubbing his neck before taking a deep breath. He straightened his back. “I don’t care. Not having to marry can only be a win. I… I don’t know why you’re enraged, father. There’s always Ludwig. We both know he’s the better son anyway.”

Something flickered through King Adalwin’s gaze, the shadow of a grin grazing his lips. The grin of a man who knew a terribly amusing secret you couldn’t even imagine. Gilbert swallowed hard. It wasn’t a good sign.

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t get married, did I?” His father shook his head. “No. You will marry. The only thing that’s changed is your choice in the matter. The first beggar that comes to our door, no matter what gender or look or age, will get your hand in marriage. That’s my final word.”

 _What_?!

Gilbert could only stare at the back of his father as he left the room, his mind spinning.

He wouldn’t go through with that, right? He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

~

After a night’s sleep that was mostly tossing and turning until the early morning hours Gilbert was convinced his father had only wanted to scare him. Yes, he could even grin again, chuckling about the matter. A beggar marrying him! The great Prince Gilbert! Ridiculous. Not even his father could be that cold-hearted and crazy.

At least that was what he believed until a servant came running into the bathroom where he was taking a nice and cosy bath, the water warm and rose-scented. Suppressing the urge to pull his head beneath the water’s surface to free himself from that noisy voice and its implications, he begrudgingly rose and let himself be dried with a cotton cloth.

What could his thrice damned father want from him this early in the morning?

Walking into the throne room, Gilbert felt his flesh crawl almost immediately. There was a feeling of unknown doom warning you of an event yet to happen wavering through the air like mist. Seeing the grim smile on his father’s face only made him more suspicious. However, it was only when he was in the centre of the room that he allowed himself to look around, that his stomach twisted, because he saw something that shouldn’t be there. That seemed as wrong as snow in summer.

There, right next to his father’s throne, was a man dressed in dirty rags, dark blond hair cut short in a way that reminded him of blunt knifes, messy and dishevelled. His eyes were pointed to the floor as if he didn’t quite want to be there, frightened maybe, trying to blend into his surroundings like evaporating water. He was holding an instrument that looked like a lute, though it didn’t quite look like the lutes Gilbert knew, its wooden body as round as a loaf of bread.

“My son,” King Adalwin said and Gilbert felt sick looking at him. “Today is a joyous day.”

He took Gilberts hand and pulled him closer, sending him stumbling for a few awkward moments. Perhaps he had intended this exact confusion and uncertainty on Gilbert’s part, because the next second Gilbert felt his hand being intertwined with another one. A hand that wasn’t his father’s, that couldn’t be his father’s, that felt too sweaty and dusty for being his father’s. When he looked up it was the beggar he saw.

“Meet your soon-to-be husband.”

 _Dammit._ Gilbert flinched, backing away as if he had burned himself.

“Y-you… can’t be serious!” he howled, shaking his head in a way that made the room spin before his eyes, a whirlwind of colours and silhouettes. “This is crazy. You’re crazy. You can’t go through with this without my consent. I… I won’t do this, no. No! You can’t force me to do this!”

He was already halfway across the room, on his way to the door and away from the madman who called himself his father, when the guards stopped him, towering over him, their weapons in close distance.

Gilbert stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed and pale. Could he try to make a run for it? No, they would catch him, sooner or later, maybe even hurt him, he couldn’t risk that. Jumping out of the window then?

“I told you you’ll marry and marry you will, Gilbert. You will marry him. Here and now, and if it’s the last thing you do. Even if we stand here the whole day. You won’t leave this room without saying _I do_.”

Gilbert clenched his teeth, clenched his hands to fists, shivering from anger and disgust, and he wasn’t even sure who it was directed at. Knowing he wouldn’t get past the guards, he turned around, glaring at his father as if he wanted to make him burst into flames with his look alone.

“Where's Ludwig? What does he have to say to this… this joke of yours?” The words tasted like bile and Gilbert could barely keep himself from gagging. He was cold, every fibre of his body as icy as snow. “Don’t tell me he’s okay with this! He can’t be. He can’t.”

King Adalwin’s expression didn’t change, his face as if made of stone. “Your brother’s opinion shouldn’t concern you. It didn’t stop you from doing what you did, right? Why should it stop me?”

He shook his head, snorting lightly. “This is your fault, Gilbert. It’s your own doing that makes me do this, so don’t you dare blame me.”

Gilbert could only stare at him, tongue almost as heavy as his heart. The air seemed to flee from this room, leaving him struggling to breathe. “You can’t make me say those words. I won’t do it.”

“You’re right. I can’t make you say those words but let me tell you they don’t matter anyway.” His father sighed, looking as if there were a heavy weight pressing onto his shoulders. “At the end of this day you won’t be a prince anymore. You won’t be my son anymore. You won’t be welcomed into this castle anymore. You will be alone, forced to die of hunger and thirst on the streets… or you marry and have a future. Not an easy one, yes, but a future, nonetheless. It’s your choice.”

Gilbert was angry and resentful, sad and shocked. He was frightened, much more frightened than he would ever admit, but he was no fool.

That was why, in the end, slowly and quietly, hurting at the sound of every syllable, he did say _I do_.

~

It was done in less than an hour.

He had started the day in a rather good mood, relaxing in a bathtub, and now he was standing in front of the closed doors of the castle with no properties except from the clothes he wore, no family, and no future to speak of, regardless what his father had said. He hadn’t even been allowed to talk to his brother for a last time which made the pang ringing through his chest so much worse.

It was only now, fingertips grazing the slim gold ring at his right hand absentmindedly, that he realised this wasn’t quite the end of his father’s punishment, because nothing else it was. No, he was married now. He had a husband.

And he had absolutely no idea what to make of that.

Sighing, Gilbert threw a short glance to the man next to him who, fortunately, wasn’t looking at him but was busy strapping the lute onto his back. He looked oddly familiar, but it was difficult to say with all the grime and dirt covering his clothes and skin, and didn’t all those peasants look about the same anyway? Still, something about him made his neck tingle and he had to suppress the urge to narrow his eyes.

He didn’t even know his name, hadn’t thought of asking for it, not while he had still been seething with rage internally. Now it didn’t feel right to ask.

Gilbert bit his lips. It wasn’t that important anyway, was it? He would know, sooner or later.

“When you’re done staring at me, we can go,” the man said and Gilbert froze. His voice was quiet, barely louder than the wind, but Gilbert was close enough to understand him.

He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, considering refusing to go because he would be seen, the townspeople would notice him and they would laugh and they would know and he already felt shame burning in his cheeks.

“What happens if I don’t come with you?” he muttered, glaring holes into the castle’s wall.

There was a silence for a moment, for two moments. A woman called her children to help her preparing a soup in the distance.

“You don’t have a choice. You’re only Gilbert now, my husband. Not a prince anymore. Not even a nobleman.”

Gilbert winced despite himself.

“You know… the people were talking about you, about your arrogance, that you think you’re better than everyone else, that everything is a joke to you… I give you this advice and you should listen: Let go of this attitude here and now. I won’t help you where we’re going.”

_I don’t want to go. I want to see my brother. I want to live my life, the life I had before the whole marriage thing started…_

_Perhaps I should have…_

Gilbert shook his head, the motion small and only intended for himself.

“I hate you, father,” he murmured. “I won’t miss you. I hope you die lonely and alone.”

There were tears brimming in his eyes as he turned around to follow his strange, new husband with hesitant steps, shoulders slumped and legs weak.

“You should hurry up. We don’t want to walk through the night. It might still be possible to arrive before the sun sets…”

~

They were silent after that, the only sound the steady succession of their steps, the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees. A few hours must have passed when Gilbert noticed a change in scenery after a violent shiver had pulled him out of his depressing thoughts and back to reality.

The landscape wasn’t green anymore, the earth bleak and dull, the trees seldom and thin as if they didn’t have enough nutrition to properly grow. It was cold, cold enough that Gilbert found himself mourning for the winter coat he had left behind in the castle. He let the breath out between his teeth and saw small clouds in the air. Another shiver made him tremble, his naked cheeks burning from the cold already.

“W-where…” He cleared his throat, talking to his husband despite not looking at him. “Where are we going to?”

He didn’t want to ask how long, because that would have been weak, and he wasn’t weak, no matter how much his feet might be hurting already, blisters all over his skin.

“I was wondering when you would ask,” the man said. Only to stay silent again for another fifty or so metres until Gilbert couldn’t contain his frustration anymore.

“Fine, you’ve won. Please, just tell me. I’m tired a-and that I’m even telling you this shows how serious I am…” He sighed, teeth clattering every now and then. “I don’t even know where we are right now… please… h-how long?”

“Hm. Shouldn’t you have taken a look at the neighbouring countries when considering your marriage prospects with your father, King Aldawin?”

His father might have tried to show him a map once. Or twice. Gilbert wouldn’t admit that, though, because then he would be forced to tell how he had thrown the maps out of the window as well.

“No,” he ground out, a shiver running down his spine, feet feeling like chunks of ice.

“I thought so,” the man said, shaking his head in a way that made the lute bob up and down. “You’re not better than a child, Gilbert. Your father told me you’re my gift for playing a beautiful song but I know it’s supposed to be your punishment in the first place. I feel like I didn’t make a terribly good deal, either.”

“Hey! Be careful what you say, I… I…” Gilbert paused, the threats wating on his tongue dying away because he wasn’t really in a position to make threats, was he? There was no power to be called his. This man was his husband and Gilbert wasn’t superior anymore, no. Looking at the man, he noticed he was smaller, less muscular, and probably less strong. He gulped down, straightening his back.

“There were kings and queens tumbling over each other in a hurry to listen to my words, noblemen coming from all over the world to beg my father for a chance at my hand in marriage.” He snorted. “Trust me, you don’t deserve me.”

“Still the same attitude, I see.” The man rolled his eyes. “Well, you will lose it sooner or later.”

Gilbert snorted, crossing his arms. He refused to speak any more words with him. He was only a bit disappointed when the man didn’t try to continue the conversation as if he didn’t care, as if Gilbert was only slightly more than a bother to him.

It was about an hour later when his husband spoke again and this time Gilbert could barely understand him over the screaming of the wind, fine pearls of snow raining down every now and then. If possible, it had gotten even colder.

Panting, limbs stiff and numb, Gilbert almost ran head first into the boulder lying in their way. He yelped, stopping in his tracks, awake and shaken to the core. It was then that he noticed the low mountains and stony hills around them. Had they really wandered that far already?

“To answer the question of our whereabouts… this is where the Northern part of King Adalwin’s kingdom ends. We will be leaving it within the next few minutes.”

Gilbert, squinting, could see the lights of a small village, blurry in the distance, and the pale lights of a much larger town even farther away. He sighed. They would need at least two more hours to reach only the first one.

“Whose kingdom is this?” Gilbert couldn’t help but ask, hands tucked into his armpits to savour at least a bit of their warmth.

The man turned around to look at him. There was still enough sun light to illuminate the warm blue of his eyes, a blue almost like purple. A blue almost uncannily familiar. Still, Gilbert couldn’t grasp why he felt that way.

“Everything from here up to the poles in the North is under King Ivan’s reign.”

Gilbert had to avert his gaze, suddenly unable to speak.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” A small laugh. “I’ve heard you’ve met him at the feast… what did you call him again? A king of savages? Well, you can see for yourself if that’s true.”

He had known it, yes, had felt it in the biting coldness, had seen it in the raw elegance of the mountain range. Still, hearing it out loud was a different thing altogether. It made it scarily real.

“Funny…,” Gilbert whispered, nausea and shame running in waves through his body. “… how I end up here after all. If I had just married him… well…”

He wouldn’t have been forced to walk through icy air with only a light jacket for protection. He wouldn’t have been forced to walk through his own town with his head lowered in shame. He wouldn’t have been forced to marry a lowly musician. He would have been a king in his own right. He would have been able to see his brother again.

Gilbert’s heart clenched, his eyes burning.

“Perhaps I’ve been a bit harsh to him,” he murmured more loudly than he had intended, but that beggar wasn’t listening anyway, was he?

~

The hut wasn’t illuminated by candles or other lights and the sun almost entirely hidden behind the horizon made it even more difficult to make out its shapes in the twilight. Still, the man walked to the door as if he had walked this way a thousand times before, and maybe he had.

Gilbert was more hesitant, wistful eyes wandering to the lights flickering in a not too great distance. He could make out the indistinct shapes of lamps and open fires, the flames beautiful and warm, surely, and there were towers reaching into the sky, high and elegant and glimmering like pure gold in the sunset’s light, towering above snow-capped pine trees. Maybe they were really made out of gold, who knew. The sky was clear and colourful, no clouds distracting from this image of piece and grace and power. This image of beauty.

“That’s the capital city, Gilbert. It’s expensive to live there, that’s why most of the common folk live in the bordering lands. I’ve heard there’s the largest library humanity has built so far, so many books they’ve started giving them away to orphanages to make room for new ones.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert could see the man’s cocky smile.

“But I forgot, they’re barbarians, aren’t they? They shouldn’t be able to write, let alone read. It must be a lie.”

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, for a moment forgetting how cold he was. “I begin to believe my father paid you to torture me.”

“Hm. He did pay me, in a way. I have you,” his husband said. “Though, even I have to admit you’re not quite worth the trouble. Can you chop wood? Light a fire? Cook?”

“D-don’t… don’t you have servants for that?” Gilbert muttered, too exhausted to care how stupid that sounded.

The man didn’t even laugh this time, only raising an earth-stained brow. “You will die of cold and hunger before you can expect… servants… to set a foot into our humble home.”

Gilbert cast a last glance at the city before following him into the hut. The only difference was the lack of wind. His limps were still burning of coldness. It was dark and wet and miserable, and how the hell was anyone supposed to live here?

Still, he couldn’t stand anymore, knees buckling, mind dizzy with fatigue, and his nose was itching and already beginning to run. He let himself fall on one of the two chairs, the wood creaking beneath him, and then his head was on the table’s surface, because he just wanted to rest for a second, only a second, really.

“You can’t sleep yet. We’ll die if we don’t make a fire to warm our bodies. Gilbert, do you understand me? Wake up.”

Blinking heavily, Gilbert rose, tilting his head slightly and squinting as he looked up to the man in rags, the beggar that was his husband now, the future that was awaiting him. He didn’t even have the strength to cry even though he had wanted to do so the whole damn day.

“J-just… tell me w-what to do…,” he whispered, tongue as heavy as his heart. Another violent shiver made him tremble, and he was tired, so tired…

His eyes fell shut again.

There was a sigh.

In the end, he would think of it as a dream, hands guiding him to something that wasn’t quite a bed but also not the floor either, and he curled himself into a ball, a shivering, trembling ball, and there were steps and shadows dancing behind his eye lids, and didn’t shadows mean there was light as well?

Light and warmth and flickering flames in the distance and a soft voice humming his name, so terribly familiar, and the confusion followed him long after he had fallen into a deep sleep.

~

Gilbert awoke when a hand shook his shoulder and it was like getting a bucket of water thrown at your face. It didn’t take long for him to remember where he was and a part of him longed for the sweet nothingness of sleep, because what could reality have in store for him?

He backed away from the man’s touch, rising to a shaking stand, legs still fairly weak, the strained muscles hurting. Out of the corner of his eye he could see glowing ambers in the fire place he hadn’t quite noticed the evening before.

 _He must have lit the fire_ , Gilbert thought, trying hard to keep a straight face. He couldn’t force himself to feel bad about not helping him but he did feel grateful.

“Why did you wake me?” he asked instead, suppressing a yawn. A look out of the half-opened door showed a dark blue sky and the first tentative rays of the morning sun. “It’s way too early to get up.”

“It isn’t early. I’ve already let you sleep longer than I’d ever allow myself.” His husband rolled his eyes. “You have to get up even earlier tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…”

Gilbert frowned. “Why?”

“You’ll see.”

~

Gilbert did see.

He also learned a few things that day.

He learned that he didn’t have the faintest idea how to prepare meat and that the logs of wood he could chop weren’t even close to similar, were splintery and uneven as well, because he could hardly lift the axe, could barely make a straight blow.

He learned how difficult it was to tell poisonous flowers from edible grasses, and that he would have died three or four times already if he were left to his own devices. He learned that the forest wasn’t a funny hunting playground but full of dangerous animals and that you should never let your guard down, lest you wanted to die.

He learned that the day didn’t have enough hours to get everything done that needed to be done, let alone the things you wanted to do.

At the end of the day he was glad there wasn’t a mirror in the hut because he could feel the dirt beneath his nails, dust, leaves and slivers of wood clinging to him like a second skin. His whole body was hurting, not only the muscles from the hard work, but also the cuts and bruises he had accidentally inflicted on himself.

At the end of the day he didn’t even know if the wet trails on his skin came from tears or sweat and perhaps he didn’t even want to know that. His stomach was churning with exhaustion and hunger even after the soup which the man had made almost entirely without his help. The three potatoes he had peeled in a way that they had somehow lost half their flesh couldn’t quite count, could they?

Gilbert had to suppress a sob, lifting an arm to wipe his runny nose on the cuff. You wouldn’t be able to tell they were supposed to be a prince’s clothes anyway, not with earth stains and loose threads all over them.

“You’re useless,” his husband said and Gilbert couldn’t bring himself to disagree. He was right, wasn’t he? Even with the things Gilbert had managed to get done today he had needed his help. Without him he would have been as helpless and confused as a little kitten.

Still, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t be able to find the way back to his father’s kingdom again even if he decided to try begging him for another chance. The past was done with. There was only one path left fro him, and this path made bile gather in his throat and tears sting in his eyes.

He had been so damn foolish. If he hadn’t rejected and ridiculed those suitors, he wouldn’t have been forced into this situation. They hadn’t really been that bad, right? Not compared to this at least.

While chopping wood he had listened to the noises only a lively city could make. The laughter, the music, the confident steps of thousands of people had echoed through the trees to the hut and each sound had felt like yet another cut to his heart. The people must lead a good life there, in the city. King Ivan’s city.

A bitter laugh crept up his throat but he managed to gulp it down. “I really should have married him…”

He hadn’t been as pretentious as Arthur, he hadn’t stumbled over his feet trying to talk to him, and he hadn’t showered him with compliments that everyone knew were fake. He had approached him on eye level, and wasn’t that something Gilbert had loathed about the whole marriage thing in the first place? To be seen as a prize and nothing more?

What a shame he had destroyed everything he could have hoped for in a heartbeat.

“… you’re hopeless, though,” his husband said and Gilbert looked up, wiping away his tears with flushing cheeks. He really was behaving ridiculously, wasn’t he?

“W-what?” he mumbled.

“I’ve said I don’t think you’re hopeless.” The smallest of smiles grazed the man’s lips, the eye that wasn’t hidden by a strand of ruffled, dirty hair almost sparkling. “Give it a few more days and you should do much better already.”

Gilbert, tired, only shrugged even though there was warmth in his chest at those words. He could almost feel himself smile.

~

Three days later he was sent into the capital city to sell the fish his husband had caught.

He had been reluctant at first, not wanting to meet a traveller from his father’s kingdom that might recognise and laugh at him or, god forbid, King Ivan himself. He might kill himself on the spot if that happened.

However, in the end his husband’s talk about needing money and his own hesitant curiosity had convinced him to give it a try. Who knew, perhaps this would be the first thing he wasn’t exceptionally terrible in.

The city was even more glorious and impressive up close. The gates were made of marble statues showing long-lost warriors with determined faces, almost as high as three fully grown man stacked on top of each other. It made him wonder where they had even found boulders big enough to make them, not even mentioning the skill necessary to carve those delicate details.

He had spent a long while there, looking at the statues, at the colourful houses, towers, and wells visible through the opening, people with carts rushing past him with the hurry of a busy city but not quite noticing him.

It was with utter care when he finally made himself walk inside. Though, even then there was nobody talking to him, nobody pointing at him, nobody whispering. For a moment he was a ghost, one of the people. For a moment he could breathe and silently enjoy the buzz and excitement radiating from every stone, from every grinning face and laughing mouth.

That was until someone tapped his shoulder, asking if he wanted to sell those herrings, and yes, sure, he wanted to sell, didn’t he?

The sun had barely begun to set when he had sold every single fish and a grin spread over his lips that didn’t even want to leave as he returned to the miserable hut in the woods. Perhaps there was something he was good in after all.

There was pure satisfaction when he saw the astounded look on his husband’s face, the wide eyes looking at the small bag of money Gilbert had brought home as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

That day was the first good one in quite a while.

~

Of course, that streak of luck couldn’t last.

He had been to the market a few times already, often enough to know some faces in the crowd like the old women who always gave him one of her self-made biscuits in addition to the coins because he was _such a handsome young man_. Or the twins from the docks who always came during lunch time to talk for a while, paying a generous amount for what wasn’t even that much fish. Or the baker’s little daughter who, big-eyed and frightened, had only now found the courage to ask him for a kippered herring to eat.

It was much nicer to mingle with the people than to chop wood in the lonely forest with only his strange, reticent husband as company. Earning money in doing so only made it that much better.

He was smiling, trying to sell the doctor’s pretty wife a bunch of herrings for the price of one when there was a shadow falling over the market place, covering the sun, and he instinctively turned his head.

His mind went empty. Gasping and wide-eyed, he managed to leap away just in time to avoid getting run over by the rider’s galloping horse. His knee slid across the stony, uneven earth, the clothes a good bit more torn, the joints aching from the impact. Panting and heart racing in his chest, he could only look after the bastard that had almost killed him.

Shocked as he was, he couldn’t even yell an insult.

It was only when he got up, brushing the dirt off his trousers with bruised and dirty fingertips that he realised that the fish was ruined, scattered across the earth like feathers of a killed bird. Lying around him, dusty and dead, was what must have been worth half a week of full stomachs.

The doctor’s wife, pity in her eyes, insisted on paying him for the ruined herrings she would have bought anyway, but other than that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing that could stop the bile in his throat, nothing to hinder the tears from burning in his eyes. Losing his goods, having to return empty-handed, hurt even more than the bruises from the fall.

His husband wasn’t at home when he arrived in the hut but the sun had only just reached the zenith anyway. Gilbert had to sit down and wait with tense muscles for the unavoidable storm. He narrowed his eyes, clenched his teeth. Why did god seem to hate him that much?

When the man returned, looking slightly more dishevelled than usual, his gaze soon found the less than full bag of money on the table and Gilbert’s pale face.

“What’s this? What happened to the rest of the money?” He raised a brow. “Did you get robbed?”

Gilbert slowly shook his head. He didn’t believe he was able to speak, tongue dry and heavy, but when he opened his mouth, there were words echoing through the small hut.

“I… lost the fish.” He gulped, then hurried to add: “It wasn’t my fault, though. That rider must have been drunk… he almost ran me over, I’m glad I’m even alive.”

The man snorted and Gilbert couldn’t quite bring himself to meet what must be a look of anger and disappointment. “You haven’t been careful enough. You have to be alert. You have to be focused and concentrated at all times. The market place is no playground and it certainly isn’t a tidy, well-kept room of your precious castle.”

“…I know,” Gilbert ground out, voice small, and why was the man that angry with him? Why did it hurt to see his disappointment? “I’m sorry but it… it wasn’t my fault…”

His husband sighed. “Well, perhaps the market wasn’t the right thing for you after all. A friend of mine works in the castle’s kitchen and she mentioned looking for help. I’ll give you a note, so she knows who you are and you can go there tomorrow.”

Gilbert heart skipped a beat and he held his breath for a second too long.

“Isn’t… isn’t that where the king lives?” he muttered, neck itching uncomfortably.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

Gilbert let the breath out of his lungs, gaze drawn to the miserable heap of money on the table. He inhaled shakily.

“No.”

~

Much to his relief, there was no King Ivan and also no princesses to be seen during his stay at the kitchen. He was suspicious and nervous at the first few hours, peeling carrots and potatoes with trembling hands, but as nothing happened, as the smiles and the laughter of the kitchen maids grew contagious, the icy ball in his chest dissolved.

It was harder work than being a merchant at the market. He left at the early morning and only returned at nightfall, but it was easy work. After that much time helping his husband prepare soups and stews, he wasn’t even half bad in cooking anymore, too.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed because the days were mostly the same, fading into each other and out of his memory, but someday he caught a bit of giggling in the corner of the kitchen. Gilbert frowned, curiosity sparking inside him as he turned to the redhaired kitchen maid, laughter lines in the corners of her eyes.

“What’s so funny?” He raised a brow.

“Oh.” Her eyes went big and doe-like. “Don’t you know? The king’s getting married today.”

Her smile widened, mischief dancing in her gaze.

“He’s making a secret out of his wife or husband to be but Danna, one of the washerwomen, swears on her life it’s Princess Amelia Jones.” She shrugged. “I think I’ve seen a young dark-haired prince in the hallway to his quarters, though, so I wouldn’t be too sure.”

Gilbert gave a small chuckle. Oddly enough, when he took a bite from his piece of bread it tasted like dust and rotten wood. Ivan was getting married, huh? Good for him. Really good.

Gilbert cleared his suddenly tingling throat. “Eh, when’s the ceremony? This evening?”

The kitchen maid nodded. “Do you want to watch it from the stairs with me? They usually don’t care about us as long as we’re quiet.”

Gilbert shrugged, then reconsidered and nodded, curiosity getting the better of him. He hoped from the bottom of his heart he wouldn’t regret this decision.

~

The room was massive, the floor polished as if it were made of glass, not unsimilar to his father’s ballroom. There were large chandeliers, skilfully painted portraits of old kings and queens looking down from the walls with a hint of a smile, and more than a hundred candles radiating a soft, flickering light which made the furniture glow as if the sun itself had gone to the earth to illuminate the room. It was stunning.

Gilbert could barely keep his stomach from rumbling at seeing all the different dishes on multiple large tables, bottles of red and white wine, all sorts of fruit pies, all sorts of meat, and thick soups with different vegetables, every single one of them artfully decorated.

The people, too, were beautiful, even though he hardly recognised anyone. Actually, the only ones he could name without a doubt were the princesses, Natalia and Katyusha, if he remembered correctly. They looked more or less the same, if a bit more splendid, wearing richly laced dresses in light blue shades. They were already sitting at a table, Natalia with a grim frown, Katyusha with an excited smile on red-painted lips, though the two seats between them were empty.

 _How odd_. Gilbert frowned. He wouldn’t admit it but a part of him had wanted to see Ivan again, had wanted to see whoever had replaced himself as his bride or groom. He didn’t trust the kitchen maid’s gossip but if his secrecy was anything to go by, the people were in for a surprise. A bitter grin flickered over his lips. Perhaps Arthur and Ivan had bonded over their joint rejection?

The musicians were playing a soft harmony in the background, inviting the people to dance, and a few moments later, half the court was dancing across the floor with flying skirts and bobbing strands of hair. Gilbert felt his heart clench, remembering Ludwig and their dancing lessons and the clumsy attempts at asking a girl out to dance. He would never dance like that again, would he?

Feeling more miserable by the minute, shoulders heavy and corners of his mouth sinking, he decided it was enough, that he shouldn’t torture himself anymore. He rose, one hand at the railing of the stairs.

That was when the music came to an abrupt stop, when the dancing couples paused in the centre of the ballroom. There was silence until the whispering started, low voices asking and answering, and that could only mean one thing.

King Ivan had arrived.

He was coming in from the side which was why Gilbert could only spot him when he was less than ten metres away from him, pausing, standing in the midst of the frozen couples, every gaze drawn to him.

If Gilbert hadn’t been that surprised and stunned, he might have felt his heart speed up, he might have decided to run down the stairs, because Ivan was too close for his comfort, and what if he noticed him? What if he would see dirty, bruised ex-prince Gilbert staring at him like a lowly kitchen maid?

As it was, Gilbert _was_ staring, frozen, taking in the stainless, embroidered fabric of his clothes, innocently white as fitting for a marriage, except from the buttons of his jacket and a few artfully placed stitches which were golden.

His pale blond hair wasn’t as long as it had been the last time he had seen him, as if recently cut, and something about it seemed awfully familiar, didn’t it? Gilbert narrowed his eyes, his stomach twisting as if knowing something his mind didn’t know.

He made a few steps closer to the dancefloor, almost close enough for the candles’ light to graze his legs. He hadn’t wanted to do it but his feet had moved as if they were entities of their own. He was a prisoner of his curiosity, of his confusion and he was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the approaching disaster until it happened.

One second he was staring at Ivan, wondering with tingling skin why the hell he seemed so terribly familiar, far more familiar than a man he had seen once months ago should have seemed. The next second Ivan had turned to him, smirking at him, looking at him with sparkling eyes. There was no doubt he recognised Gilbert the moment he saw him.

Gilbert’s heart plummeted to the floor, fading away like melting snow and leaving him breathless.

His mind was empty, his body frozen in disbelief as Ivan crossed the distance and took his hand, pulling him right into the light and onto the dancefloor with a fluent motion, and, dammit, how could he move that quickly when time had stopped for Gilbert long ago?

Somewhere someone burst into a stifled laugh and Gilbert, barely able to keep his balance, felt shame and anger burning hot through his veins, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes.

“Where’s the music?” Ivan asked into the silence that wasn’t quite a silence, all the while holding Gilbert’s calloused and grease-stained hand in his softer, clean one, then reaching out the other one in a mockery of an embrace.

Gilbert couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, his mind a storm, his thoughts rafts in an enraged sea, unable to grasp, unable to calm down. Somewhere the music began to play again.

“What’s the matter with you?”,Ivan asked, quieter now, the words only intended for him, and this voice seemed awfully familiar as well, didn’t it? He tilted his head. “Don’t you want to dance with me, Gilbert?”

Gilbert pulled his hand away with a gasp, stumbling backwards, then turning around to run, silent tears rolling down his cheeks and along the line of his tightened jaw.

He didn’t come far, though.

There was a hand at his shoulder, Ivan’s hand, undoubtedly, pulling, then grabbing his lower arm with a grip of iron, spinning him around to make him face the man himself.

His other hand reached out to capture Gilbert’s other arm, successfully keeping him from running away, no matter how much he struggled to break free. He could only glare at Ivan with watery eyes and curse him in his head. Realising how futile his attempts to flee were, Gilbert let out a sigh that sounded more like a sob, pressing his eyes shut, body growing limp and numb, head falling down. He could hardly feel the tears leaving trails on his cheeks anymore.

“W-what do you w-want from me?” he whispered, voice breaking at every new syllable. “I’m s-sorry, okay? What I’ve said was wrong and mean a-and I know I’m a bad person. T-trust me, there’s nothing I’m surer of. Still…” His face twisted to a mask of grief and despair. He sniffled. “Haven’t I been punished enough?”

There was silence, almost long enough for Gilbert to believe that Ivan had lost his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Ivan muttered, voice low and strained.

“… w-what?” Gilbert, blinking heavily through a curtain of tears, looked up at the king, frowning.

“I shouldn’t have waited that long. You’ve changed, I’ve seen that during the first days. It’s been rather… cruel of me to keep pushing you… for that I’m terribly sorry.” Ivan sighed, eyes heavy-lidded. Only then did he meet Gilbert’s gaze. “After all, you’re my husband.”

It was then that Gilbert felt the ring pressing into the skin of his right hand, a similar ring to the one he was wearing himself, and his heart jumped to his throat. He looked at Ivan, at the shorter strands of his hair, the purple glint of his eyes, and the realisation hit him like a punch in the face.

He could only shake his head in disbelief, searching for words, failing to find the right ones. Saying them anyway. “W-why? After I’ve been that horrible to you? You should have wanted to see me dead…”

Ivan loosened his grip around Gilbert’s arms, raising a hand to wipe away the tears on his cheeks with gentle movements, and Gilbert felt warmth running through his body in soothing waves.

Ivan smiled at him, looking giddy and happy like a child falling in love for the first time.

“Let’s just say I don’t shy away from challenges… and I was curious… curious what the man beneath all that anger and frustration and hatred would be like. I felt like I would like that man.”

His smile widened, eyes like blooming lavender. “I do like that man.”

Ivan leaned down to kiss him, and it was a sweet kiss, a kiss like flowers in spring, and Gilbert felt like he could get used to that. It was like stepping out of the darkness and into the light. 

_Then the maids-in-waiting came and put on him the most splendid clothing, and his father and brother and his whole court came and wished him happiness in his marriage with King Ivan, and the joy now began in earnest. I wish you and I had been there too._

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ivan’s ‘lute’ is a Russian string instrument called domra


	4. Donkey Skin (FrUS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always fascinated by this fairy tale and I'm glad I can finally add it to this collection. I actually took inspiration from three different versions but the one the excerpts are from is [this](https://www.surlalunefairytales.com/a-g/donkeyskin/donkeyskin-tale.html#TWENTYRET) one. 
> 
> (I hope there aren't that many mistakes, I'm still recovering from a mild concussion.)
> 
> England's a bit OOC in this one because he's the bad guy. I think it's somehow understandable in the context. Maybe don't read this if you're a diehard USUK shipper :P (I actually love USUK, sorry!)

**Donkey Skin**

~

England as _King Arthur_

America as _Prince Alfred_

Japan as _Prince Alfred’s closest friend_

Canada as _his fairy godfather_

France as _Prince Francis_

Spain and Prussia as _Prince Francis’s closest friends_

~

_There was once upon a time a king who was so much beloved by his subjects that he thought himself the happiest monarch in the whole world, and he had everything his heart could desire. His palace was filled with the rarest of curiosities, and his gardens with the sweetest flowers, while in the marble stalls of his stables stood a row of milk-white Arabs, with big brown eyes._

_Strangers who had heard of the marvels which the king had collected, and made long journeys to see them, were, however, surprised to find the most splendid stall of all occupied by a donkey with particularly large and drooping ears. It was a very fine donkey; but still, as far as they could tell, nothing so very remarkable as to account for the care with which it was lodged; and they went away wondering, for they could not know that every night, when it was asleep, bushels of gold pieces tumbled out of its ears which were picked up each morning by the attendants._

_After many years of prosperity a sudden blow fell upon the king in the death of his wife, whom he loved dearly. But before she died, the queen, who had always thought first of his happiness, gathered all her strength, and said to him:_

_‘Promise me one thing: you must marry again, I know, for the good of your people, as well as of yourself. But do not set about it in a hurry. Wait until you have found someone more beautiful and better formed than myself.’_

_‘Oh, do not speak to me of marrying,’ sobbed the king; ‘rather let me die with you!’ But the queen only smiled faintly, and turned over on her pillow and died._

_For some months the king’s grief was great; then gradually he began to forget a little, and, besides, his counsellors were always urging him to seek another wife. At first he refused to listen to them, but by-and-by he allowed himself to be persuaded to think of it, only stipulating that the bride should be more beautiful and attractive than the late queen, according to the promise he had made her._

_Overjoyed at having obtained what they wanted, the counsellors sent envoys far and wide to get portraits of all the most famous beauties of every country. The artists were very busy and did their best, but, alas nobody could even pretend that any of the ladies could compare for a moment with the late queen._

_At length, one day, when he had turned away discouraged from a fresh collection of pictures, the king’s eyes fell on his adopted son, who had lived in the palace since he was a young boy, and he saw that, if someone existed on the whole earth more lovely than the queen, this was he._

“I don’t know, Kiku,” Alfred muttered. He gave his aching muscles a stretch wiggling his shoulders and trying to shake off the exhaustion still lingering from their earlier sparring match. Kiku, his feet almost floating silently next to Alfred’s confident steps, arched a brow.

“He’s just making it so much harder for himself… I mean, have you seen Lady Natalia’s portrait? She’s gorgeous. It’s ridiculous.”

“You know of the late queen’s wish,” Kiku said. “His Majesty doesn’t want to disappoint her… it’s understandable. Though, I admit I hope he won’t wait much longer with his decision… the kingdom needs a queen…”

Alfred furrowed his brows. He tried not to think of the dark months of his mother’s illness, the way her health had kept declining no matter what they did to help her, her skin like candle wax, tightly stretched across her bones, her hair as thin as a spider’s web. Death had found her too early. It was in every way an injustice.

She had been a cheerful, kind and beautiful woman, all too ready to take in a young boy, orphaned after the death of her brother in law, even though she had been barely of age herself. It had been easy to think of her as his mother and it made the pain of losing her all the more gut-wrenching. Still, it had been almost a whole year now and the wound, while not entirely healed, wasn’t gaping anymore.

“I know.” Alfred stopped in front of the door to the king’s quarters. “It’s… it’s difficult. Maybe he’s finally made a choice and that’s why he wants to see me…”

He sighed, then turned to grin at Kiku. “Well, I look forward to our next match… perhaps you’ll even get to win for once.”

Kiku rolled his eyes, a hint of mischief in his face.

“My last three victories must have happened in a dream then…” He bowed slightly. “Until then, Prince Alfred.”

“That was a tie today!”, Alfred called after him as Kiku turned around the corner, a grin dancing on his lips. Something was clearly wrong with Kiku’s memory. Three victories? Ha! “A tie, I tell you!”

His joy was soon to be extinguished, though. When he entered the room, the first thing he noticed was its coldness. It wasn’t winter yet, the trees still dressed in red and yellow, the odd warm breeze still sending a remembrance of summer across the country, but the shiver Alfred felt made him wish for a warm coat and hot tea. His grin wavered and he suppressed the urge to rub his bare arms as his gaze found the dark fireplace, the black coal not even faintly smouldering anymore, a single white piece of wood next to it.

“It’s freaking cold… you should really light a fire,” Alfred mumbled. He gave a shaky snort. “You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?”

Arthur looked up from the desk he was sitting at, the fingers of his right hand tapping against the oaken surface as if he couldn’t quite keep them still. His face was a mask, his exhaustion so deep it seemed to be engraved into his flesh, his skin as white as the overcast sky even though the shadows beneath his eyes were dark. His lips made a tight line.

“I…” His Adam’s apple bopped as he took a deep breath, eyes focusing on Alfred, staring in a way that wasn’t comfortable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice…”

Alfred waited for him to continue, awkwardly standing in the centre of the room. No more words reached him. Arthur was only looking at him out of slightly narrowed eyes, a tension surrounding him that felt like the quiet before the storm. Alfred swallowed hard. He knew Arthur was still struggling with his wife’s death, though he couldn’t help but feel as if the man wasn’t drowning anymore but was willingly floating toward the bottom of the ocean. How long until he wouldn’t be able to grasp the hand reached out to him anymore?

Alfred sighed. He sat down in front of Arthur and hesitantly took his hand into his own giving it a light squeeze. His skin felt even colder than the air.

“Why did you want to see me, Arthur?”

After the intense staring it was strange to see Arthur avert his eyes and lower his head. Alfred could feel his muscles tense up, his fingers coiling inside his hand like a snake being caught. He let go of them as if he had burned himself.

“Arthur…?”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, his face darkening even more if possible. He was glaring at the delicately made carpet as if it had murdered someone he held dear. “It’s almost been a year… it feels like yesterday but it’s almost been a year. Crazy, huh?”

He chuckled but it didn’t sound happy and Alfred felt his stomach twist. A part of him wanted to pull Arthur into a hug, the other part wanted to leave this cold and miserable room as soon as possible. He didn’t need to urge Arthur to explain himself, though. Arthur sighed and looked up again, his gaze a bit less distant, a bit less like a maelstrom threatening to pull him in.

“I wanted to see you t-to…,” a short pause, a new breath, the words slower, more mumbled “,… to tell you I’ve chosen a queen.”

“Y-yeah?” Alfred raised his brows, tried to smile. It didn’t feel right. Why didn’t Arthur seem to be happy about it? “That’s good… great. I’ve seen the pictures and there were a lot of beautiful, kind-looking women, I’m sure you’ve made the right choice. Besides, it’s not like they’re doomed with a senile, old man. You’re still attractive and young enough to have lots of kids on your own. Don’t worry, Arthur… it’s going to be fine.”

There was a grin on his face but Arthur didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm, didn’t even seem to listen to him. Alfred frowned and he licked his lips, a terrible sense of foreboding trickling through his body. “W-who… eh, who is it you’ve chosen? Do I know her?”

“Ah… I suppose so…” Arthur cleared his throat. When their eyes locked again, he seemed calm, collected, though not in a natural way. Not in the way he used to be. When he smirked, he didn’t look like himself either. “Well, you should. It’s you.”

Somehow the room grew even colder, a coldness like snow settling on his limbs, weighing him down, making his skin burn with a numbing sensation. Alfred couldn’t breathe as he blinked trying to make sense of the words which had left Arthur’s mouth. They didn’t want to make sense, no matter how he twisted and turned their syllables.

“W-what?”, he gasped trying not to feel as if the floor were dissolving beneath his feet. This couldn’t be true. Arthur wouldn’t say those things, no way.

“You’re going to be my new queen,” Arthur repeated as calmly as before and somehow that made it even worse. “It’s not ideal, I know, and I didn’t want to think about it at first but you’re old enough and… it’s the only way I can honour my promise.”

Alfred shook his head, would have stood up if his legs hadn’t felt like melting wax. He clenched his fingers, eyes glaring. “You’re crazy!”

Arthur didn’t seem to like his reaction. He tilted his head, something like a sneer grazing his lips.

“Don’t act so surprised, Alfred,” he said making a dismissive gesture. “You know you’re more attractive than every single woman out there hoping to gain my approval… you’re just and kind and you know the kingdom almost better than I myself.”

His gaze grew distant. “Your smile is just like hers, you know… maybe even more beautiful…”

A cold shiver ran down Alfred’s back. He grimaced. “You think I’d want to marry you!? Y-you’re… you’re my father… you took me in when I was barely old enough to play with a sword. Please, Arthur, I beg you… think about it. This… this is madness.”

Arthur shot him a hard glance. “You’re not really my son… besides, it’s not that unusual. Either way, I’ve made my decision. We’re not going to argue about it. Like it or not, you’re going to marry me.”

Alfred couldn’t hold his gaze. He closed his eyes swallowing hard and fighting away anger and frustration. After everything they had been through, after Arthur had watched Alfred grow up, how could he say those things? How could he be that cold? A part of Alfred wanted to cry. He took a deep breath.

“G-give… give me a night to think about it, a-alright? One night.”

He needed to find a way out of this.

~

Alfred had no idea how to find a way out of this.

He couldn’t marry Arthur. He didn’t want to, it felt wrong, and he felt sick just thinking about it. However, he couldn’t say no either. Arthur was his king after all, powerful and rich, and only a fool would refuse him.

He cast a glance out of the window, the first rays of sunshine already grazing the horizon, and his stomach dropped. The candle on his shelf was barely more than a wick with a struggling flame and a puddle of wax. Soon the morning would arrive and Arthur would expect an answer from him and there was no way Alfred could give it to him. Cold sweat was trickling down his neck and he took a shaky breath circling his room with slow steps.

“I can’t do this alone…,” he groaned helplessly. “Is no one there to help me?”

It hadn’t been a real question, of course, and that was why he flinched all the more when a strange voice called to him. At first he thought it was a hallucination, made up by his exhausted mind.

“I might be able to help you,” a young man, not unlike Alfred in his appearance, said. His blond hair was wavy and falling down to his shoulders. His blue eyes had a shade of violet, sparkling in a way that couldn’t be natural but felt as right as the morning dew on flowers. He gave Alfred a small smile. “My name’s Matthew… I’m your fairy godfather.”

Alfred raised his brows, dumbstruck. This evening couldn’t get any crazier, could it? He cleared his throat. “You’re my fairy godfather? How come I haven’t seen you before?”

A grin formed on his face, hope rekindling inside him. “That means you can do all kinds of cool, magical stuff, right? Do you also have wings to fly?”

Matthew pursed his lips. “If you want to put it that way… yes. Magic has its limits, though. I can’t make someone fall in love with you, I can’t make things appear out of thin air, I can’t kill anyone, and… well, there’re a lot of rules. And no, I don’t have wings… and I can’t fly either.”

“Oh…” Alfred crossed his arms trying to hide his disappointment. “Eh, how do you want to help me then?”

“You don’t want to marry King Arthur, right?”

Alfred grimaced, not wanting to remember that disastrous conversation. If Matthew had watched him in those last hours, the answer to his question should be obvious.

“Of course not.” He glowered at the pinkish sky. “I like Arthur but he’s always been more of a father, maybe a brother, to me… I can’t just marry him and live with that decision...”

Matthew nodded resting a finger on his chin. “I think… yes, that should work. Here’s what you do. Tell him you’ll marry him-“

“No way, dude!”

Matthew shot him a glare. “Let me speak. We don’t have much time. You do want my help, don’t you?”

He crossed his arms but his eyes became softer, the light less like a bushfire and more like a candle. An apologetic smile appeared on his lips. “It’s not like you’re really going to marry him, I promise.”

Alfred stopped walking, stopped moving altogether. It was only then that he noticed how tired he was, how much his body yearned for the comfort of a warm bed, how much his continuously thinking, panicking mind yearned for a break. The back of his head was pounding and when he lifted his hand to adjust his glasses, his fingers were trembling. His chest felt as if being squeezed together and he wondered when he had last drunk a glass of water. He couldn’t remember.

He rubbed his face, feeling sweat and dried tears and a burning inside his veins seeking to eat him alive, and he sighed.

“Please help me, Matthew…,” he whispered.

“All right.” Determination shone in Matthew’s eyes. “You see, you can agree to marry him… but if you include conditions impossible to meet you won’t have to go through with it. Ask the king for three capes: one as golden as the sun, one as silver as the moon, and one as dazzling as the stars. Even King Arthur shouldn’t be able to give them to you and you won’t be at fault.”

Alfred barely kept himself from pulling the man before him into a tight hug and a huge grin took away the tension from his face. It felt like losing chains tied around his neck and ankles and when he took a deep breath relief ran through his veins like water extinguishing a raging fire. He wanted to both laugh and cry.

“Thank you, Matty…,” he murmured, voice hoarse and shaky. He might have embraced his fairy godfather after all but when he looked up he was alone again. This time, though, he wasn’t scared.

~

A part of Alfred had hoped Arthur had thought about his terrible decision, had changed his mind and maybe picked one of the country’s wonderful ladies after all, though when he met him again he soon had to realise Arthur was still as hellbent on marrying him as the day before.

When he told him of his conditions Arthur reassured him with a smile he would get his desired presents as soon as possible. His confidence made Alfred uneasy but he trusted Matthew and, even as wealthy and clever as Arthur was, he was only human. There was no fabric matching the moon or the sun or the stars, it simply wasn’t possible. Right?

When Alfred met Kiku for their daily sparring match, he didn’t feel as confident as the night before but he still felt safe enough. The feeling didn’t last long.

“Your hand might be holding a sword but your mind is elsewhere, Prince Alfred,” Kiku muttered after sending him sprawling on the ground for the fourth time in a row.

Alfred groaned and rolled himself over to look at the cloudless sky, arms and legs aching and unwilling to move. The right side of his glasses was coated with dirt and dust but the other one was still clear enough to recognise the hunting bird drawing lazy circles in the air high, high above him. A peregrine falcon. What would be like to fly, unaware of the human world’s problems?

Kiku’s face, wearing a frown, appeared in his view and blocked the sky. Alfred chuckled shakily.

“You know it, don’t you?” The words made his throat itch. “Arthur wants to marry me… me, Kiku! He’s gone mad…”

Kiku looked at him for a long while, neither of them speaking, before he sighed and extended a hand to help him stand up. The world shook when Alfred rose, almost entirely relying on Kiku to pull him.

“It’s not my place to question the king’s decisions,” Kiku said, a dark expression in his face, while Alfred half-heartedly dusted himself off. “Still, I won’t say I approve of all of them. Do… do you want to talk about it?”

Alfred shrugged, his face twisted into a grimace. “I don’t know. I don’t think this crazy idea of his will go much farther… well, I hope so. I should be safe, really. It’s just… what if he does manage to get me those capes?”

Kiku’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah… that must be why he’s sent for the greatest tailors and weavers of the kingdom. You…”

He paused, his jaw clenching as he gulped. Even before he continued to speak Alfred could feel his heart drop. Kiku didn’t quite manage to look him in the eyes, his voice a low mumble.

“You know he told them they’d be executed if they don’t meet his expectations… don’t you?”

Alfred’s constricted throat didn’t allow him to speak, horror like ice in his veins. He could only mouth the words.

_Oh no._

~

When he entered the throne room the next day there were three different capes laid out before him, each one a perfect piece of art.

The first cape was golden, though unlike any golden cape ever made before. Even lying on the ground the fabric seemed to move and flicker and shine, seemed to warm the room with its mere presence, as if the sun itself had given them its rays to be woven into the fabric.

The second cape was silver, though unlike any silver cape ever made before. Its colour was richer, the silver threats merely a mask before a dark ground, a tranquillity surrounding it that seemed to whisper the moon’s secrets, both glimmering with light and melting with the night, the sleeping world come alive. It was like the moon, just as the first one had matched the sun.

If those capes made you doubt their creators could be human, the third one led you to believe you were living in a dreamlike reality where anything was possible. It was dazzling and bright enough to make you shield your eyes at the first glance, what must be more than a thousand jewels and gems catching and reflecting the chandelier’s light in a glimmering dance. It was as if the stars had left their place at the firmament to grace them with their presence.

Alfred couldn’t even think at first, his tongue unable to form words, his lungs unable to draw breath. How the hell had they managed to make these capes, in such a short span of time at that? His stomach twisted. He could lie, of course, he could say they weren’t as perfect as they were, he could say they didn’t meet his expectations. Though, what if the tailors and weavers would suffer for it? He clenched his teeth.

“Well, what do you think?” Arthur raised a brow, a smile on his face that Alfred would have very much liked to punch away. Though, there were guards all around them. He couldn’t do it. And Arthur was still waiting for an answer from him, wasn’t he?

Alfred swallowed hard, eyes roaming over the capes once more because it was better than looking at Arthur. A part of him wanted to curse Matthew for not thinking of a better idea, though he didn’t manage to feel anything else than cold dread.

“Eh… they’re really… wonderful…,” he mumbled, drawing out the syllables to have more time to think. However, there were no thoughts inside his head, only his steadily accelerating heartbeat and a mantra of ‘ _damn you’_ s.

“So you’re done with this childish tantrum?” Alfred could almost see Arthur’s widening smirk. “You told me you’d marry me if they’re to your liking.”

Alfred opened his mouth, not knowing what to say but knowing he had to say something, when a familiar voice spoke. He froze until he realised it didn’t came from the outside, it came from within him, a strange thought placed inside his mind.

“Tell him there’s one more thing you need to have,” Matthew urged, words almost blurring into each other in his hurry. “Ask him for the skin of the donkey in the royal stable, the reason for his wealth. He won’t dare to kill it for you.”

Alfred did what Matthew had suggested even though a part of him couldn’t help but fear there was nothing Arthur wouldn’t do for his hand in marriage. However, it seemed to work at first.

The words swept Arthur’s grin away, his green eyes narrowing. Alfred could see his hands clench and his jaw tighten as he struggled for an answer. He tried not to look too hopeful while he waited for the silence to end, almost as tense as Arthur himself must be. When it did, there was disappointment.

“Fine!”, Arthur snarled. “But no more conditions after that. I’ve already been more patient with you than I should’ve been. We’ll get married tomorrow.”

~

“Matthew…?”, Alfred whispered into the silence of his room, hands clutching the blankets of the bed he was sitting on. He couldn’t talk to Arthur anymore, he couldn’t ask anyone else for help, even if he had had more time, and he didn’t even have that. His fairy godfather was his only hope now.

The echo of his voice hadn’t even left his room when a familiar form stepped out of the shadows, a guilty expression on his face.

“I’m so sorry, Alfred,” Matthew said. “I really thought it would work. It should have.”

Alfred laughed shakily. It was better than crying and by god he had cried enough already.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured him. “I didn’t have any better ideas either. I thought they’d work just as much as you… but p-please… please tell me there’s a way I don’t have to marry him! I’d do anything at this point, really.”

Matthew placed a hand upon his shoulder, the touch soothing like ice on a bruise, and Alfred rubbed the last remnants of tears out of the corners of his eyes.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this…” Matthew sighed. “But I guess it’s the only way. You need to leave the kingdom. You need to run away.”

“I can’t.” Alfred grimaced. “He’d find me. He’d send hunters after me… and soldiers, a whole army perhaps! They’d be looking for me all over the country and they’d find me.”

“Not if you don’t look like yourself.” Matthew pointed at the donkey skin lying close to his feet, the grey hair softly glimmering in the moon light. “Wrap yourself in it and hide your face with grime. Your belongings will be stored in a chest which I’ll put a spell on to follow you underground. If you have need of them, touch the earth and ask for what you want and you’ll receive it. My magic will conceal you so you can leave without being seen. Afterwards you’re on your own. Understood?”

Alfred took a deep breath. He thought of Kiku who he’d never see again, of Arthur, how he had been before, of the life he had led before everything had turned into ruin, and he nodded.

“Alright.”

When morning came he wasn’t in his room anymore. He had left the world he had known and had leapt into the frightening sea of the wilderness.

In the beginning every tiny noise was able to startle him, his muscles tense, his legs exhausted, his nose itching from the stink of the donkey skin. He expected Arthur’s soldiers to catch him every time he heard a horse galloping from afar. However, no one reached him as if they weren’t able to be close to him, as if something about him repelled every being nearby. He was more alone than he’d ever been in his life. Though, this time he could find a strange relief in it.

As the day carried on, as he began to see foreign fields and streets, as he put more and more distance between himself and the place he’d called home, he decided it was time to try and find shelter. However, the people he met and asked for work didn’t see the handsome prince but a dirty boy dressed in rags, dressed in a donkey’s skin. They laughed at him, or were scared, and even though Alfred cursed them in his mind itching to expose himself, he knew there was nothing he could do. This skin was both a blessing and a curse.

It was only in the late evening, the borders of a large town in the close distance, that he passed by a farm and a woman’s voice called out to him. “Hey, you! You in need of work, boy?”

That was how Alfred ended up working at a farm, cleaning the dishes, keeping the sheep, feeding the chicken, cleaning out the pigsty, repairing the fence, and doing whatever work needed to be done. Luckily, he had helped Arthur’s servants in the past, if sometimes only because of a lost bet, and he was still young and strong and clever which soon gained him the respect and goodwill of the farmer’s family despite his abhorrent appearance.

Sometimes, when he had time by himself, often in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep, he touched the earth and asked for his clothes in a voice barely more than a hushed whisper. He washed himself and wore golden rings and clean shirts and the capes he had paid such a high price for, thinking about what had been and what would never return, thinking about a home he had never truly possessed, and still enjoying the knowledge that, in the end, he wasn’t an ugly, dirty farmer’s boy but a most handsome prince even if that beauty hadn’t always brought him luck. Whenever he heard steps or voices, quiet as they might be, he hurried to undress, to be the shadow of himself he was forced to live as.

It wasn’t ideal by all means. However, it was better than marrying Arthur and, who knew, perhaps it was possible for his situation to improve after all.

~

~

~

Francis liked to believe he was a good prince, one who would be an even better king when the time came. He liked to have a good relationship to the castle’s servants and the kingdom’s people and he often went for a ride across their lands to enjoy the feeling of fresh air and blossoming nature, to talk to his people and to ask if there were any problems waiting to be solved. It was one of those rides that would change his life forever.

It was an average day. It was warm but the sun was hiding behind clouds. A gentle breeze was trying to take away the ribbon he had tied his hair with to no avail. Exhausted after a long day that hadn’t revealed any serious problems, Francis wanted nothing more than to enjoy a hot bath in the castle. His friends Antonio and Gilbert seemed to share the sentiment, their smiles less enthusiastic than in the morning, specks of sweat glimmering in their faces.

However, when they passed by a farm, the biggest of the kingdom, the castle already visible in the distance, Gilbert’s expression changed. He pulled on his reins slowing down his horse and turning his head to look at the farmer’s house like a hunter looking for deer in the woods.

“What’s the matter, Gilbert?” Antonio laughed. “Have you seen a ghost?”

“Ah, I’m trying to,” Gilbert corrected with a grin. “I guess it doesn’t want to be seen, though… what a pity. Listening to all the rumours it’s hard not to be curious.”

Francis brought his horse to an abrupt stop and raised a brow. “What rumours, my friend?”

Gilbert came to a halt as well, reddish eyes sparkling with mischief. He snorted. “You’re living under a rock, Francis… and here I thought you were a prince.”

“I haven’t heard any rumours either, Gilbert.” Antonio rolled his eyes. “Now, be a good friend and share them with us.”

Gilbert chuckled but soon enough shrugged, probably too tired for any more jokes. “The farmer got himself another helping hand. They say it’s half animal, half man, so hideous to look at, a single glimpse is enough to blind you. The kitchen maid swore her cousin lost his right eye because of it.”

“As amusing as that story is, my dear Gilbert,” Francis said. “It’s complete nonsense… how would they even employ a being they’re not able to look at? And I for my part remember at least three different stories about the loss of the eye of the kitchen maid’s cousin. Four with this one.”

Gilbert gave an exaggerated shrug pursing his lips. “I didn’t say I believe in ghost stories. I’m simply curious about the truth behind them.”

“I like your story!”, Antonio exclaimed. “Though, I think a tragic background would make it even more appealing. Maybe your supernatural being is a man cursed by the woman he spurned?”

“Why does it always have to be about women with you?” Gilbert shook his head, finally turning away from the farm. They kept arguing, their loud voices a steady noise in the background, though Francis wasn’t listening anymore.

He put his horse to a gentle trot and crossed the distance to the farmer’s house. He shouldn’t have done it, there wasn’t a good reason to do so, there wasn’t even a bad one. He had said it himself, Gilbert’s story was complete nonsense. Still, somehow the words had found their way into his mind and he had wondered and he had looked and he had felt a strange attraction.

He knew the farmer and his family but it had been quite some time since he had last stopped by for more than a short greeting. Was there someone new working on the farm? Gilbert was right, every story, every rumour had its origin, they didn’t just pop up out of nowhere. Still, the reason for this one was probably as mundane as it could get. It didn’t justify postponing a relaxing bath.

In the end Francis couldn’t help himself. When he jumped off his horse and tied its reins to a small apple tree, he could see the sun set on the horizon, the clouds painted pink and orange. It was already darker than a few moments ago.

The farmer and his family were nowhere to be seen, the farmyard quiet like a nightly forest. Francis frowned until he remembered the harvest festival which would begin after the sun had set to continue until the early morning hours. Perhaps they had left to celebrate with friends of theirs in the town. Perhaps they were somewhere on the fields harvesting what was left or picking flowers to make crowns for the daughters.

Francis wasn’t able to let go if his curiosity, though, which seemed to only increase in intensity as he approached the door. It didn’t even disappear when he crossed the threshold and saw nothing but empty chairs and empty tables. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for but something told him he would know when he’d find it.

Being the skilful hunter he was, his steps didn’t make a sound as he followed the path leading to the other end of the building. He froze when he heard a noise and, unexpected as it had been, a contrast to the eerie silence, he needed a few moments to realise someone must have stayed behind after all. His heartbeat quickened as he made out the very last room in the passage, its door small and halfway hidden behind a wooden beam, as the origin of the sound. He should have left right then but Francis had never been a coward.

It was almost too easy to cross the distance until he was able to bend down and look through the keyhole.

He had expected to see a bird lost in the building after flying through an open window, or maybe a member of the farmer’s family gathering a few last things for the celebrations. A part of him might have even thought of Gilbert’s story and the hideous hybrid being. However, what he did see was nothing like that.

There was a young man and he was the most beautiful person Francis had ever seen. His hair was glimmering like pure gold in the sun’s light, his eyes a sparkling blue, the dance of the sea’s waves inside them. The clothes he was wearing made him stick out in this dirty farmer’s house even more, clean and well-fitting and elaborately designed, the shirt alone seemed to be worth half a fortune. Even more spectacular than that was the cape flying from his shoulders as if being moved by an invisible hand, as dazzling as the stars itself, bright enough that Francis had to narrow his eyes, had to look away for a moment or two. It was only at the second glance that he realised it must be made of thousands of jewels and gems.

Francis didn’t know how long he stared at him, at the smile on his face, the way his lips curved when he laughed, but when he realised what he was doing he felt his whole face heat up. His heart was fluttering in his chest and he wanted to open his mouth, wanted to storm through the door and ask this strange man if he knew how beautiful he was and if he would like to spend some time with him.

Francis wasn’t the kind of person who was easily stunned, he usually voiced his thoughts as they came. However, in that moment he couldn’t help but be speechless, guilty even that he was disturbing what felt like an intimate moment with his presence. He couldn’t talk to this man even if every fibre of his body yearned for it. He was sweaty and exhausted and his hair was a mess, how could he even dare to approach such a heavenly being?

He turned around and fled. His mind was spinning and when he crossed the farmyard to get back to his horse, he almost ran straight into the farmer’s wife and could only stop himself in the last second, boots digging into the mud.

“My greatest apologies, Madam,” he mumbled hoarsely. “I haven’t seen you.”

The woman almost immediately dropped down to make a curtsy, her eyes wide but her lips smiling. “You don’t have to apologise, my prince. It’s always a pleasure to see you. Is there anything we can help you with?”

Francis licked his lips suppressing the urge to rub his neck.

“Eh, n-no…,” he began, then froze. He cleared his throat. “I’ve heard you’ve got a new servant at your farm. Is that true?”

Her brows rose slightly. “Oh… yes. It’s Donkey Skin you’re talking of. He’s very hardworking and kind, if a bit… peculiar. He’s living at the other end of our house… please don’t be afraid of him. Did he startle you?”

Francis swallowed hard, his mouth still as dry as the earth he was standing on. “No, no… everything’s fine. I didn’t see anyone. I was just curious, is all. Have a good day, Madam!”

When he arrived at the apple tree, Antonio and Gilbert were already awaiting him.

“A fine friend you are, Francis!,” Antonio complained shaking his head. “Leaving me alone with this madman…”

“We thought the ghost might have stolen you away,” Gilbert joked with a wink. “But, alas, you’re still alive... or are you? Your face is quite red.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t the ghost who found him,” Antonio teased. “The farmer’s daughter might have been supernatural enough for him.”

“Oh, shut up already…,” Francis muttered as he mounted the horse. He couldn’t joke around with those memories in his mind. He already wondered if they hadn’t been hallucinations after all but the farmer’s wife had confirmed there was someone living in that room. Donkey Skin. The name didn’t make sense. The beautiful man wearing expensive clothes living in that room and being a farmer’s servant didn’t make sense.

He considered telling Antonio and Gilbert about him, his lips were even quivering already, but he stopped himself and clenched his teeth. They would only laugh at him and he couldn’t even blame them. No, he had to solve this riddle on his own.

~

It was in the early morning hours and after a mostly sleepless night when he rode out again, all by himself this time, his destination a certain farm. However, he stopped quite a long way from it and left the horse at a small river, so it would be easier to hide if he felt the need to do so.

It was only after a short walk following the empty street, the sky not quite a light blue but brightening, that he saw a bunch of sheep grazing in the distance. The trees surrounding the field threw large shadows on the earth, nature’s own cloak. Maybe that was why Francis didn’t notice their shepherd until he was close enough to pet the sheep, their black eyes staring at him as his gaze roamed over the field.

“I wouldn’t go much closer, you don’t want to scare them,” a male voice said.

Francis turned around and froze. He stumbled a few steps backward, eyes widening, a hand reflexively reaching for the knife at his belt. He had thought it was a wolf, a bear perhaps, this dark shadow beneath the tree, but as he focused on it, he realised it was a human sitting on a small rock. He wasn’t wearing any normal clothes, though, at least no visible ones as he was wrapped into the skin of an animal, most of his face hidden by it. The only part of his body the sun light was touching was the hand holding a wooden shepherd’s crook, its skin dirty with earth and grime.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” the man said, his warm voice an odd contrast to his grotesque appearance. “Do you live in the town? I’d offer you something to eat or drink but I’m afraid I’ve got nothing more than some berries and the river’s water.”

He laughed, and it didn’t last longer than the blink of an eye, but something about his laugh struck Francis like lightning. He couldn’t pinpoint why, though. Still, as frightening as this animal’s skin was, the man beneath it didn’t seem to be half as threatening. Francis smiled at him loosening some of his tension.

“My name’s Francis,” he said. “I’m… I’m looking for someone.”

The man seemed to freeze, though it was difficult to say for certain. “Francis…? Like the king’s son?”

Francis tried not to grimace and sighed. He didn’t like that his heritage was the first thing people usually saw in him. They tended to treat him as a prince instead of a man, a man who didn’t want to be seen as superior or more worthy than the ‘common folk’. Something about this situation and this strange man made him even more disappointed that he couldn’t expect more than the usual chit-chat about royalty.

“Yeah..,” he mumbled averting his gaze. “That would be me.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you!” The man said. What was visible from his lips seemed to turn into a huge grin. “You’re always riding around the kingdom to help people in need, aren’t you? That’s pretty great. You know, the farmer’s wife is always gushing over you, you really seem to be her hero, it’s cute.”

A small chuckle. “I wondered when I’d have the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“Ah… really?” Francis couldn’t help the blush creeping up his cheeks. He rubbed his neck. “Thank you. Though, I don’t do that much actually… I mostly just listen.”

“Seems to be enough for them.” The man shrugged. “Well, you said you were looking for someone? I’m quite new here but perhaps I can help nonetheless.”

It was only then that Francis realised what he was doing and that it wasn’t bringing him closer to the solution of his problem at all. He shook his head suppressing the urge to laugh about his own ridiculous behaviour. A tingling sensation ran through his body. A part of his mind seems to scream at him, incomprehensibly though, like words on the tip of your tongue you couldn’t quite reach.

“The farmer’s wife told me they’ve got a new servant,” he said slowly. “Donkey Skin was his name, I think… do you…”

He paused when he noticed the change in the man’s posture, the tension of his body, and his mouth went dry. The animal’s skin, the farmer’s sheep. How could he have been that blind?

“Yeah…” The man snorted but it sounded tired, sad even, his shoulders slumping. “That would be me.”

Francis felt the need to apologise even though there wasn’t really anything he should apologise for. Still, he made a step forward, hand itching in the desire to reach out and touch and reassure. He sighed.

Before he could utter a word, though, the man raised his head and their eyes met. “I don’t like having people looking for me. Please… just forget you’ve ever met me and go.”

He looked away almost immediately but even this brief moment had been enough to startle Francis, to make him see the expression in his eyes, blue spots in the midst of the donkey skin’s shadow, a raging sea, worried and angry and exhausted. Francis knew he was the young man he had seen in the farmer’s house and as he made a careful step backward, eyes roaming over his slumped form, he wondered how he couldn’t have recognised him immediately.

Yes, the donkey skin was hideous. Yes, his face and hands were coated with mud and dust. However, he still possessed an air of natural grace, aimed for by many but reached only by a few chosen ones, and there was warmth and kindness surrounding him that couldn’t even be dulled by the darkness of the trees. He was still beautiful, maybe even more so as this beauty was supposed to be hidden but still shone through, unable to be quenched completely.

Francis swallowed hard. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to… I’m sorry.”

He sighed, turned around, and he fled once more.

~

Back in the castle he didn’t even bother to take off his clothes but fell into his bed and slept through the whole day, mind dizzy and hot. There was an itch inside his body he couldn’t scratch, no matter what, and even in his sleep there were shadows and raging seas and glimmering jewels and the lifeless eyes of a dead donkey.

He woke up a few times, from knocking on his door and steps passing by, but he always went back to sleep soon enough, and it was only when he opened his eyes for what must be the fifth time that day and saw the royal doctor that he realised he wasn’t merely tired.

“I’m afraid it’s a fever, your Majesty,” the doctor said, his voice as if coming from the depths of a well. Francis could feel the squeeze of his mother’s hand, sweat trickling down his temples and he tried to breathe through the heat of his head and the weight on his chest.

“Oh, my poor boy…,” the queen whispered. “Why do you always have to work that hard?”

She sighed and Francis would have liked to reassure her, would have liked to squeeze her hand as well but he couldn’t quite find the strength to do so. Funny how he got ill now of all times, wasn’t it? Antonio probably would have made a joke about lovesickness if he were here.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?,” his mother asked and Francis could see the doctor shake his head out of the corners of his eyes.

“I’ve already given him herbs to drink but they don’t seem to work as of yet. Perhaps there’s something else bothering his mind, so his body can’t relax and fight the illness. In the end, we can’t do much if he himself doesn’t want to get well again.”

Francis almost laughed but it transformed into a shaky cough. Something was bothering his mind, yes, very much so, but he could hardly tell anyone, could he? His mother pressed her palm against his forehead and he took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut.

“It seems even hotter than before…,” she mumbled, her voice barely more than a soft echo. Francis could feel himself drifting off to sleep already. “Tell me, Francis, what is it what you want? How can we help you, my son?”

What was it that he wanted? The beautiful man. Donkey Skin. He wasn’t merely curious anymore, he was fascinated, enchanted. He wanted to talk to him and he wanted to help him. He would have given anything to erase the sadness out of his blue eyes. He couldn’t feel his tongue when he spoke but he heard the words clear enough.

“Donkey Skin,” he murmured, a smile dancing around the corners of his lips. “The farmer’s servant… a-ask… ask him to make… a cake, a-all right… a cake…”

He couldn’t hear his mother’s answer anymore as he was already asleep.

When he woke up again, he was disoriented blinking with heavy eye lids and taking in the darkness of the room. Was it late evening or early morning already? Had the conversation with his mother been a dream after all? Or had they really gone to Donkey Skin to ask for a cake?

Francis, feeling a bit stronger already, couldn’t help but snort. Surely, they couldn’t have done so. However, when he pushed himself into a sitting position, head throbbing with a light headache, he saw a small cake on a plate on the shelf next to the mattress, dark red spots of berries shining through the golden dough. He raised his brows. How long had he been asleep? Long enough for a cake to be freshly made and brought to him?

Still, he couldn’t help but smile as reached out to tear off a piece. It had been quite some time since he had last eaten something and he had always had a sweet tooth. No matter how ridiculous this request seemed now, a part of him was glad he had made it.

It was when he reached for a second piece that he noticed something small and sparkling in the corner of the plate and he frowned. Digging it out of the dough was easy, if a bit messy, and soon there was a golden ring lying in his open palm and glimmering in the candle light. Memories ran across his mind, the young man and his dazzling cape, and if he had had any doubt left that Donkey Skin was that man, they would have fled in that moment. His chest felt warm in the most pleasant way. He couldn’t help but gaze at the ring a bit longer smiling and wondering and remembering, and he made a decision.

When morning came and the illness had left, Francis went to his parents, both of them overjoyed at seeing him healthy again. He showed them the ring.

“The doctor’s right. There was something bothering me but you don’t have to worry anymore. I know what to do,” he said, determination rushing through his veins. “I’ve met the most beautiful and kindest man on earth… this belongs to him. I want to marry the man whose finger this ring fits. I don’t care who he is, I won’t marry anyone else.”

~

Many young and old men came to court to try on the ring, some of them attractive, some of them less so, but Francis knew none of them were him. By the end of the day he was frustrated, a bit tired, and downright scared. He had hoped Donkey Skin would understand his intentions and the underlying meaning of the message the envoy had told the people and Francis had hoped he’d approve of it.

Though, as he thought about it he wondered if he hadn’t been too hasty with his decision. Maybe he had scared him. Maybe he had misinterpreted something. He could only cling to the hope that Donkey Skin didn’t even know of the ring yet, or that he didn’t dare to go into the castle.

“There are no unmarried men left,” his mother said, a small frown twisting her delicate features. “Are you sure it was someone from our kingdom, my son? Or maybe it was a woman after all? I love you and I want you to be happy but maybe you’ve been mistaken.”

Francis shook his head, though he couldn’t help but lick his lips nervously. “You’re wrong, mother. Someone’s left. Do you remember Donkey Skin? The man who made the cake that cured me? Let him come as well.”

His mother shot him a confused gaze, her lips quivering as if she wanted to argue. Though, then she sighed and called for a servant.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…,” she mumbled but Francis only smiled at her.

Waiting was torture, but when the doors opened and a familiar figure entered, followed by the envoy and a guard, every tension was forgotten.

Donkey Skin crossed the room with the same grace Francis had seen in him before, a confidence implying he knew exactly what to do, and a part of Francis wondered if he wasn’t more familiar with royalty than he pretended. The clothes he had seen him wear were those of a nobleman at least, those of a king at most. What exactly was his background? He was a riddle, still, but one Francis intended to solve.

When Donkey Skin stopped in front of him, his face was hidden by the skin once more but his hands were visible and oddly clean. There was no dirt anymore, no mud or grime.

“You called for me, Prince Francis? I hope you didn’t think I poisoned the cake.. I’ve never been that good at baking, I have to admit.” A quiet laugh slipped from his lips and it was just like his laugh from the fields, just like the laugh from the caped man in the farmer’s house.

“I thought it was fine,” Francis said walking up to him. “But there’s something you lost in the dough… I’d like to give it back to you. Would that be all right?”

Donkey Skin made a soft sound, something between gasp and sigh, and the silence stretched far too long to Francis’s liking, but in the end the man reached out a hand to him, the fingers trembling slightly.

“Go ahead.” He nodded, voice just a bit breathless.

When Francis took his hand feeling its warmth, the fluttering pulse at his wrist, when he slipped on the ring with ease as if had been made for this man to wear, his grin widened even more. It was then that the donkey skin fell off the man’s shoulders, exposing golden hair, and sea-blue eyes, and a dazzling cape, and clothes made for a king, and the most beautiful smile.

Their gazes found each other and when they kissed, every sad thought disappeared.

_The welcome of the queen and the king was so warm, and their caresses so bewildering, that Prince Alfred hardly knew how to find words to reply, when the ceiling of the hall opened, and the fairy godfather appeared, seated in a car made entirely of white lilac. In a few words he explained the history of the prince, and how he came to be there, and, without losing a moment, preparations of the most magnificent kind were made for the wedding._

_The kings of every country in the earth were invited, including, of course, the prince’s adopted father (who by this time had married a widow) and not one refused._

_But what a strange assembly it was! Each monarch travelled in the way he thought most impressive; and some came borne in litters, others had carriages of every shape and kind, while the rest were mounted on elephants, tigers, and even upon eagles. So splendid a wedding had never been seen before; and when it was over the king announced that it was to be followed by a coronation, for he and the queen were tired of reigning, and the young couple must take their place. The rejoicings lasted for three whole months, then the new sovereigns settled down to govern their kingdom, and made themselves so much beloved by their subjects, that when they died, a hundred years later, each man mourned them as their own parents._

~


	5. The Blue Light (GerPru)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original: [The Blue Light](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/type0562.html#grimm)
> 
> [I took a few liberties with the story, that's why it's so freaking long :P]

**The Blue Light**

~

Germany as _Ludwig,_ _the soldier_

Fem!France as _Françoise_ , _the witch_

England as _the light’s fairy_

Prussia as _Prince Gilbert_

Germania as _King Aldawin_

~

_Once upon a time there was a soldier who had served the king loyally for many long years. When the war was over and the soldier could no longer serve because of the many wounds he had received, the king said to him, "You can go home now. I no longer need you. There will be no more money for you, because wages are only for those who earn them."_

_Because the soldier did not know how he could earn a living, he sadly walked the whole day long, until he came to a forest in the evening. As darkness fell he saw a light. He approached it and came to a little house…_

Ludwig should have known better than to knock on the door. Stories of demons, witches, and evil ghosts were popping up in his mind, the gentle voice of his mother warning him of what might be lurking in the woods. His heart was heavy, though, and his legs were tired. An arrow had pierced his right knee during the war and he had never really recovered from that. The joint had begun to ache again, making it difficult to keep standing even with a hand pressed against the nearest tree for support. He had no choice. He didn’t know where else to go. 

Still, his stomach was churning when he waited for the door to open. There were steps, the creaking of wood, and then Ludwig was facing the smiling face of a young woman. 

She had blond hair which was tied into a bun, except from a few curls around her ears. The sleeves of her dress were rolled up as if she had been cooking before, a white apron fastened around her hips. Ludwig felt himself relax until their gazes met and a cold shiver ran down his spine. 

Her eyes were blue, then purple, almost pink, ever-changing like a sky at dawn, glowing with a spark that seemed to whisper all the secrets of the world at him. There was something knowing in her look, something supernatural. 

Ludwig swallowed hard. She was a witch. 

“My, my... I didn’t expect a visitor at this late hour... even less one as good-looking as you.” She winked at him. 

He usually would have felt flattered but now he couldn’t help but feel even more uncomfortable. It was just his luck that he had stumbled upon a witch’s hut in this wilderness. Who knew what she might be able to do to him? Worse men than he had been transformed into frogs or bears, if the legends were to be believed. He eyed her warily. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss,” he said slowly. “I’m... well, I was a soldier. I fought in the war... but… the king...” 

A bitter taste clang to his mouth and he gulped down, clenching his teeth. 

“The king doesn’t need me anymore,” he muttered. “I don’t know where to go and the night’s dark. I’d be grateful for something to eat and drink... and a place to sleep.” 

Despite the cold and the unsettling darkness, he almost wished for her to send him away. Somewhere an owl howled. The witch tilted her head, her smile an icy grimace. “A soldier, you say. Interesting. I have to admit I don’t get many visitors... and I don’t want them. You can see why, I’m sure.” 

Ludwig didn’t dare to breathe, let alone speak. He managed to give a short nod. 

“Well, I’m going to make an exception for you. You have nothing to fear from me, Ludwig.” She grinned as if she were doing him a great kindness. “You can sleep next to my fireplace and I’ve cooked enough soup for both of us. I only ask for a small favour.” 

She let out a dramatic sigh. “There’s a dry well behind my house. I was distracted for a moment and my light slipped right out of my hands and into the well. It’s a special light, you know. I won it in a fight once... it’s blue and never goes out. It’s very dear to me. I know it’s too dark now but if you promise to get it for me tomorrow, I’ll gladly give you everything you’ve asked for.” 

_What’s the catch?_ Ludwig thought. Still, there was nothing he could do. Should he decline and keep wandering through the forests and into a certain death? Who knew, perhaps the witch spoke the truth and he could be gone by dawn. He let out the breath he had held. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he said. “Thank you, eh...” 

“You can call me Françoise.” Her face brightened when she stepped to the side to let him in. 

However, Ludwig couldn’t relax when those unnaturally intense eyes were still looking right through him. It was only after they had eaten together and had talked for a tense while, when he was trying to sleep, engulfed by warmth and the comfort of a full stomach, that he realised he had never told her his name. It wasn’t a good thought. 

~ 

When Ludwig woke up, he felt good. His sleep had been deep and dreamless. It had been nice to let go of his problems, the questions about his future that were tormenting him, and his knee wasn’t hurting anymore. It was only when he noticed the smell of bread and a soft voice humming a song that he realised where he was. 

The calmness left his body as if whisked away but he tried to comfort himself with the thought that he wouldn’t have to stay another night. When he arrived in the kitchen, Françoise had already prepared breakfast for him. 

“Did you sleep well?” she asked without looking up from where she was cutting herbs Ludwig didn’t recognise. Next to her elbow was a small jar, halfway filled with an oily liquid. 

“Yes... thank you,” Ludwig murmured. The soup hadn’t been poisonous, so maybe the bread was safe as well. He hoped so. There were only one or two coins left in his purse, not enough to buy more than an apple at most. He ate quickly, yearning to leave this place behind. 

It was soon after he had swallowed the last bite that Françoise rose to lead him to the well. 

It wasn’t newly built, that much was obvious at first glance. The stones were more green than grey and there were small yellow blossoms covering the plants climbing their way up to its opening. It almost seemed as if it was part of the forest and hadn’t been made by humans at all. When Ludwig approached it hesitantly and looked down, there was nothing but blackness to be seen. Except... 

He frowned. Wasn’t there a soft blue shine, deep down, a mere shadow of light? Was that the thing Françoise had been talking about? 

“It shouldn’t take too long,” a familiar voice said from behind his back. “Though, the walls are covered with plants and the way down is longer than it seems, difficult to climb. Step into that basket and hold onto the rope, I’m going to lower you down.” 

Ludwig could think of a few things he would rather do than jump into a dark well, though he had promised Françoise to get her light. She had helped him, witch or not. This was the least he could do. He let out a low sigh and stepped on top of the well, the plants crunching beneath his boots. 

Being lowered down the well, he couldn’t help but think this must be the way souls had to take on their way to hell. There were wet noises, the sound of drops of water, leftovers from the last rain. It was cold and getting colder the deeper he went. There seemed to be a breeze even, grazing his cheek and whispering unintelligible warnings into his ears. His heart was beating faster than it had on the battlefield. 

He winced and almost lost his balance when the basket met the ground. Down here, the blue shine was strong enough to make out the black outlines of a small cave, and the odd colour made it seem as if he were underwater. 

It was easy to find the light Françoise had been talking about, too easy. When Ludwig put it into the pocket of his coat, it seemed to pulsate gently, the surface warm but not hot enough to burn him. When he went back to the basket, tugging on the rope to let Françoise know he had what she wanted, he was only waiting for something bad to happen. Where were the demons? The evil ghosts lurking in the dark? Had Françoise really only sent him because she wasn’t able to climb down? 

He felt dizzy, almost ill, when he felt a soft pull and left the ground. It was a nervousness just like the one he had always felt before a large battle, when he had been taking the last breaths before the first arrows were shot, before the screaming began. _You should never make deals with witches_ , his mother’s voice warned him and he swallowed hard. 

It was when he was close enough to see the birds flying in the sky, to feel the sun warming his face, that Françoise stopped pulling. 

“Did you get my light?” she demanded to know, a biting tone in her voice that Ludwig didn’t like. 

“Yes,” he answered, slightly annoyed. A part of him wondered if he were able to climb out of the well by himself if he reached for the edge of the uppermost stones. Why hadn’t Françoise waited for him to get out before asking that question? 

“Give it to me!” 

Ludwig frowned, his heart skipping a beat. She sounded more like a witch than the sweet, young maiden she was looking like now. He couldn’t help but feel as if he had made a horrible mistake but he didn’t want to argue with her, either. There was only one thing he could do. He reached into his pocket. It was when his fingers curled around the light’s handle, already lifting it up, that a voice rang through his mind. 

_Don’t do it_ , it said. _She’s a liar. She doesn’t want anyone to know about the light and she’ll kill you as soon as she gets it back._

Ludwig almost let go of the rope he was holding onto. A rush of adrenaline flooded him, brought terror and fear, and it was hard not to give in to the panic and do something he would certainly regret. Where was the voice coming from? Was it speaking the truth? 

His hand clenched around the light and his heart was racing when he cast a glance at Françoise, a dangerous glint in her eyes. He had no reason to believe a strange, bodiless voice but he had even less reason to trust a witch. He took a deep breath. 

“Let me get out of here first,” he said as firmly as he could. 

Françoise laughed loudly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid, Ludwig. I could’ve killed you in your sleep and haven’t done it, why should I do it now? Now, give me my light.” 

Ludwig didn’t want to do it. He had never wanted to do anything less. Her words had instilled a sense of anxiety in him that was strong enough to paralyse him, his mouth dry, his limbs heavy. He didn’t believe her. He didn’t know what to do but he knew there was no way he could give her the light. 

“No,” he rasped. “I want to trust you. Please… let me get out of here first.” 

When Françoise let out a low growl, she sounded more like an animal than a human. A cold shiver ran down Ludwig’s back. He didn’t get any kind of warning. He was already falling when her voice echoed through the well’s interior, engulfing him like sea waves until he felt like he was drowning. 

“Then die in there!” 

~ 

It was dark when Ludwig regained consciousness, so dark he almost believed to be dead. He couldn’t be, though, because his body was hurting and his head was aching and when he turned it, he saw the blue light lying right next to him. It must have slipped out of his grip during the fall. 

When he looked up at where the sky must be, there was only a small greyish circle far, far above him. With the cave’s walls as high and wet and uneven as they were, they would be almost impossible to climb. And even if they weren’t, he didn’t feel like he was able to climb more than a small apple tree at the moment. It was a lot of effort to get up and it was an even greater effort to keep standing when his joints felt like unoiled cogs of a mill. His knee was throbbing painfully again. 

He glared at the blue light, the reason for his misery, and cursed the king for getting him into this situation in the first place. Was this his fate? To die in a dark, old cave, alone and forgotten? 

He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. The strength left him like water running through the cracks beneath his fingers and he let out a long sigh. When he sat down again, trying to find a spot that wasn’t as wet as the others, a wave of hopelessness took hold of him. He didn’t know why he did what he was doing next. Maybe he wanted to distract himself, maybe he wanted to have a last pleasant memory, maybe his fingers knew better than his mind and moved on their own. 

Whatever it was, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and found his pipe. To his surprise, it was still half-filled with tobacco. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smoked but maybe right now was as good as any time. Glancing at the blue light, he felt a tired smile grazing his lips. If he had to die for it, he might as well use it. When he lit the pipe and began to smoke, blowing small rings into the dark air, there was piece inside him. It didn’t last long. 

“What do you wish for, Ludwig?” a voice said and it was the same one that had warned him about Françoise. 

Ludwig stiffened, inhaled too much smoke, and had to press a hand against his mouth to keep himself from coughing. There, in the air in front of him, was a man who was much smaller than any man Ludwig had seen before, maybe about as tall as the length of his hand, and he was flying. Blue sparks were surrounding him and the wings of a blue morpho were attached to his back, now fluttering to keep him afloat. Apart from that, he looked like a human with messy, blond hair, big eyebrows and green eyes which were just a shade too bright. 

“No!” Ludwig spat out, pressing his eyes shut. “No more supernatural beings, please! This damned well must be cursed… just let me die in piece.” 

“I’m nothing like that bloody witch.” The fairy scoffed. “Open your eyes, Ludwig! I can help you… I can get you out of here.” 

Hesitantly, Ludwig let his eyes flutter open, though he did keep them narrowed. “Who are you? Why did you tell me I shouldn’t give Françoise the light?” 

“My name’s Arthur.” He crossed his arms, looking as if he had bitten into a lemon. “The witch and I have a long history… this was my forest once. She wanted to claim it for herself and we fought… more often than I can count. She always lost, of course, until one day… well, I spare you the details but she cheated and since then I’m bound to the light, forced to fulfil the wishes of whoever uses it.” 

He let out a small sigh, a shadow crossing his gaze. “I’m really glad you came along, Ludwig. I thought I’d have to stay with her for all eternity…” 

Ludwig raised a brow. “Did… did she really want to kill me?” 

Arthur looked up and flew a few inches closer to him. He shrugged. “Probably. She’s a notorious liar. You’ve seen her… she’s crazy. There’s a reason she doesn’t like to get visitors. She doesn’t trust anyone. Even if she had let you go… believe me, you’re better off with me. I can see into your heart, Ludwig, I know your prospects are bleak. With me, though…” 

His lips curved into a smile. “I can help you get everything you want… and you can free me.” 

“Really?” Ludwig tilted his head. He didn’t know if he should believe him. Getting whatever he wanted seemed too good to be true. His curiosity got the better of him, though. He had nothing to lose, right? 

“Show me.” He raised his brows expectantly. “I wish… I wish we wouldn’t be in this well anymore. I wish I had enough money not to worry about my future anymore.” 

There was a blue flash, bright enough to make him press his eyes shut. He turned his head away, heart skipping a beat, though he didn’t feel any different. It was only when he felt wind against his cheek, cold and biting, but real and beautiful as well, that he tore his eyes open. 

“Done,” Arthur said. 

They weren’t in the well anymore. They weren’t even in the forest. There, behind a green hill, were the gates of a city, the bright, loud, and colourful capital of the kingdom. The sun was in the sky, covering the meadows and wooden houses with warm light, and only a few clouds were scattered across it. Ludwig took a deep breath, not daring to blink, lest he might find himself staring at a hallucination after all. The city didn’t fade, though. 

It was only then that Ludwig noticed the weight in his hands. When he looked down, there were large bags filled to the brim with gold coins, more money that he had ever seen before, let alone possessed. He couldn’t help but take a coin and bite it to make sure it was real. 

“Where did you get the money, Arthur?” he whispered. 

“Ah... don’t worry about it. I took it from Françoise... rest assured, it has never been hers in the first place, either.” 

Ludwig glimpsed at him. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to take money that was stolen even though it hadn’t been him who had stolen it first. There was honour in earning money through hard work. However, didn’t he deserve it? He had put his life at risk for the king and had gotten nothing from him. Maybe it was time for him to get the reward he should have gotten a long time ago. Maybe fate had led him to that house in the woods and to Arthur so he could get justice. 

“Do you have any more wishes, Ludwig?” Arthur appeared in the corner of his eyes, his brows raised. 

Ludwig allowed himself to smile. “Not for now, no. Thank you for what you’ve done... is there a way I can call you later?” 

“Simply light your pipe with the blue light. As long as you got it, I won’t be far away from you.” 

With that, Arthur disappeared in a shower of blue sparks. The light in the pocket of Ludwig’s jacket seemed to warm up a bit more. The future didn’t seem to be half as bleak anymore. Having more money than he could ever spent, Ludwig felt at ease, as if he could breathe again after being underwater. He didn’t need to worry about starving anymore. He wouldn’t be forced to swallow his pride and beg for crumbs of bread. It was easy to get lost in this new taste of freedom. 

He first went to a tailor to get new sets of clothing made for himself, each more splendid than the one before. When he left the tailor’s shop and walked down the main road, chin raised and confidence radiating from every movement, the heads of both men and women turned to take a look at him. He ignored them, though he couldn’t deny the tingling feeling in his veins, a soft sensation like a summer’s breeze. It let him know he was more than a retired soldier now, more than the common folk even. Fate was on his side. 

However, there was also another feeling, one not quite as pleasant as the other one. An itch, a restlessness covering his thoughts like rain clouds. It was only when he sat down in the best room the town’s best inn had to offer, a glass of fine wine in his hand, that he realised what was missing. 

The king didn’t know any of this. To the king, he was nothing more than an injured soldier, unfit to receive more than insults and mockery. The king was still sitting on his throne, looking down at him and everyone who had ever served him and yet getting praise and presents and pleasure. It wasn’t fair. Maybe it was time for the king to know what defeat felt like. 

Ludwig took a sip from the wine as a plan unfolded in his mind. What did he know about the king? He didn’t have a wife anymore. Though, he did have a son, didn’t he? An only child, precious to him and well-guarded. 

Ludwig placed the glass back on the table, the hint of a smile on his lips. Yes, that should do. He grabbed his pipe and lit it with the blue light. Arthur appeared almost immediately, leaning against the wall.

“Well, you’ve called for me?” 

Ludwig nodded. “I want you to bring the king’s son to me. It’s late, he should be asleep and won’t put up a fight… is that possible for you?”

Arthur stiffened. His bored gaze transformed into something else, something dangerous, the half-narrowed eyes of a general scanning no man’s land putting tension into his face. “Why do you want me to do that?”

Ludwig looked away and let out a small sigh. “It’s impossible for you…”

Arthur huffed. It was the same sound a child made when their mother denied them the answer to a question she deemed too difficult for them to comprehend.

“Of course not,” he growled, something unnatural mixed into his usual human-sounding voice. It faded away when he continued speaking. “Getting the money from the witch has been more difficult than that task could ever be, trust me. I’m not the one I’m worried about. Starting a fight with the king… you might get more than you bargained for… and you have my light. I’m just reminding you to be careful, Ludwig.”

Ludwig allowed the silence to spread through the room. He placed his hand on the table to gently tap against the wood while he gave Arthur’s words some thought. There was no room in his mind for logic when it came to personal grievance, though, especially as it had almost cost his life.

Yes, this undertaking wasn’t without risks, but it wasn’t like Ludwig went to the castle to insult the king without as much as a sword to protect himself. Nobody would see a connection between the cast away soldier and a bizarre dream. Arthur had spent many years alone and far away from the daily life of citizens and nobility, no wonder he was out of touch with reality. Moreover, as powerful as he claimed to be, it shouldn’t be difficult for him to escape whatever problems might arise.

“You told me you know about my past. You know how the king has treated me.” Ludwig curled his fingers, holding the tension for a heartbeat, then letting his muscles relax. He raised his head just enough to catch Arthur’s gaze. “Don’t worry… I can assure you I’ll be careful.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to argue anymore. When he jumped into the air and vanished, there was a soft whoosh, like a candle being blown out. Ludwig wondered if he had decided to ignore him to hang around wherever supernatural beings like he went to sulk just when the echo of his voice reached his ear. It was barely louder than a breeze.

“As you wish…”

Ludwig had just finished his glass of wine, the familiar warmth of alcohol pooling in his abdomen, when the window opened as if by an invisible hand. He rose, wondering if the wind was playing a game with him, slightly annoyed even, and froze. Somewhere a clock struck midnight. It hadn’t been the wind, he realised.

There, flying through the opening into the inn’s room, was a man, lying on his back and eyes closed as if he were sleeping. There was a blue gleam covering his body, though it disappeared as soon as his head touched the pillow of Ludwig’s bed. He let out a soft sigh, still asleep but with a frown grazing his face now, squirming slightly as if he were stuck in a nightmare.

Ludwig took a step closer and let his gaze roam over the stranger. He was young, in his early twenties at most, and he didn’t look like any man Ludwig had seen before. He was as pale as if he only knew the sun’s warmth from tales, though his cheeks were healthily rosy and no hollowness was to be seen, a sign that he didn’t need to starve. His hair was short and white, glimmering like silver in the candlelight. His nightgown was purple, decorated with golden threads, the fabric shimmering and clean and obviously worth a fortune. A peasant might have been able to get a month’s worth of food for his family out of the money spent for it.

Ludwig wrinkled his nose, though he couldn’t help but be intrigued as well. This was the legendary prince?

“There you go,” Arthur’s voice hummed inside his mind. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

Ludwig rolled his eyes, the hint of a smile dancing over his lips. When he leaned down to shake the prince’s shoulder, there was a thrill running through him that was oddly reminiscent of the times he had left a battlefield victorious.

It took a while for the prince to wake up. Gilbert, that was his name, wasn’t it? Ludwig remembered other soldiers talking about him, especially those that had been stationed at the castle. Those who admired him had said he was a great fighter and an even greater strategist, those who detested him had called him lazy, conceited, and selfish. However, most of them didn’t have an opinion of him because there just weren’t that many soldiers who had as much as seen him in the first place. Guarded was an understatement.

Why had such a praised fighter stayed inside the safe walls of a castle? Ludwig crossed his arms, a rush of anger running through him. It seemed right for the king’s son to think he didn’t need to risk his life when there were other men able to do the dirty work for him, so he could enjoy parties and dinners and scented baths.

Gilbert’s eyes fluttered open, revealing reddish irises beneath heavy lids, and he sluggishly moved to rise, one naked foot already touching the floor. It took an almost comically long while for him to realise where he was. When he did he froze, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“What the hell…,” he murmured sleepily. His head turned around as if in search of something he couldn’t even pinpoint himself. Though, before his gaze could find him, Ludwig let a broomstick fall into his outstretched hands.

“Go to work,” he said. “I’ve been waiting long enough already. The room’s dusty and dirty, I can’t possibly sleep here, don’t you think?”

Gilbert, probably too stunned to speak, looked at the broom he had caught instinctively, then at Ludwig He raised his chin, something between grin and grimace twisting his otherwise handsome features. “Are you talking to me? Because you should really overthink what you’re saying in this case… sorry to disappoint you but I’m not a servant, far from that. I don’t know you and I’d sooner call the guards to execute you than sweep as much as a corner of this… this… what even is this place? Who are you? What… what am I doing here?!”

He jumped to his feet and the broom met the wooden floor with an ugly clang. It was only thanks to Ludwig’s training that he managed to dodge Gilbert’s hand, though he almost tripped over his own feet when he stumbled backwards.

“You’re dreaming, Gilbert,” Ludwig told him and the unfamiliar name left a tingling feeling on his tongue. He straightened his back, putting as much confidence in his voice as possible. “This is your dream and I’m only a part of it. You have to tell me why your dream is as it is… though, I can tell you why you’re here. I’ve already told you, actually.”

He nodded to the broomstick. “Now, please do pick that up and clean the room.”

There was confusion in Gilbert’s gaze, delicious uncertainty breaking through, seldom seen on a royal’s face, and Ludwig couldn’t help but smile. Gilbert was glaring at him but he wasn’t arguing, wasn’t storming out of the room, was only staring, considering the words probably, wondering, thinking. Ludwig hoped Arthur’s magic was strong enough to really convince him, but it seemed as if his plan wasn’t doomed yet.

“I’m dreaming…?” Gilbert whispered, tilting his head. “I never dream about things like this… why…”

A smirk grazed his lips. “You’re not going to turn into a lightly clad lady, are you? I can’t do anything about the dust in this room but I could certainly make you forget about it, if you know what I mean. You’d make a pretty woman.”

He made a step forward, gaze directed at Ludwig in a somewhat distant, thoughtful way and yet it was intense enough to catch Ludwig off guard, to silence him. Gilbert sucked in his bottom lip, then shrugged.

“You know what, I’d make an exception for you.”

It took every ounce of Ludwig’s willpower not to voice his bafflement. He still lost his string of thoughts, though, eyes widening ever so slightly, and it took an embarrassingly long moment for him to find his words again. This wasn’t what he had intended for this night. This…

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

“No,” he stressed. “I don’t want you. You’re nothing to me. You clean the room and that’s it.”

Something flashed through Gilbert’s eyes and he pursed his lips, almost pouting. He lowered his eyes, as if he didn’t want anyone to know what might be displayed in their depths. Standing there, shoulders slumped, jaw working, he looked horribly lost. Ludwig almost regretted his words. _He’s the king’s son_ , he had to remind himself. He deserved to be brought down a notch. It could only do him good to learn that not everyone was bowing to his every wish.

Gilbert snorted. “If you say so… what a dumb dream. I hope I never dream something like this again…”

He let out a low groan and picked up the broom. It was a strange sight. His clothes were like flames at the bottom of a lake, unnatural and bizarre, and he couldn’t have looked less like a servant if he had wanted to. When he began to sweep, it wasn’t really sweeping because he didn’t seem to have the slightest idea how to do such an easy task. His movements were both too violent and too soft, sometimes grinding the broom’s bristles against the floor as if trying to dig through it, sometimes barely grazing it at all.

Ludwig, speechless, could only stare at him because he couldn’t believe a man could be that incompetent. He had to withstand the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming after all. He had to keep himself from showing Gilbert how to do it right. It didn’t matter anyway. Gilbert wasn’t supposed to learn anything from him, he was just a tool to get to his father.

However, as Ludwig looked at the prince, the satisfaction he had felt at stealing him away from under the king’s nose trickled away like sand between his fingers. It was late, he was tired, and, worst of all, he began to feel bad for Gilbert. Irritated, he sat down and poured himself another glass of wine. It tasted like mildewy marmalade. He drank it anyway because he didn’t have anything better to do.

When he was done, he noticed Gilbert had stopped sweeping and was leaning against the broomstick and glancing at him out of heavy-lidded eyes. Ludwig felt his neck tingle and soon the sensation spread through his whole body.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?!” he snapped and Gilbert flinched, his grip around the broom tightening.

“I thought you have to know the people who appear in your dreams but I’ve never seen you before,” Gilbert mumbled. “I’m sure I haven’t. I would’ve remembered you.”

“If you really don’t know how to use a broom, I’ve got another task for you,” Ludwig said, ignoring the words, hoping Gilbert would forget about them. He felt a bit dizzy from the alcohol when he rose but, luckily, he wasn’t stupidly drunk yet. Still, he had to loosen the collar of his shirt when a wave of heat made sweat cling to his skin.

Gilbert had to make a small leap backwards when Ludwig all but threw his boots at him, soon followed by a handkerchief. That Gilbert was able to catch, though, albeit with confusion twisting his face. Ludwig had to close his eyes when a wave of nausea ran through him, the ground wavering beneath his feet. Maybe he was more drunk than he had thought after all.

“Polish them,” he ground out, making a waving gesture. “Go on… I hope that’s something you can’t mess up.”

He didn’t remember sitting down again but he must have done so because he felt the chair’s padding against his back. When he managed to open his eyes again to look at the prince, Gilbert had actually sat down on the floor to carry out Ludwig’s order. However, while his hand was drawing lazy, inexperienced circles with the handkerchief on the leather, his eyes were still staring at Ludwig as if he were the first human he had ever seen.

“I’d know,” he continued in a quiet voice. “I don’t meet that many people, you know. Father doesn’t allow it.” 

Ludwig glanced at him but was quick to turn away as soon as he met Gilbert’s eyes. He didn’t know what to say and that left only one way to go: Silence. It wasn’t the good kind of silence. It was heavy and uncomfortable like a too small shirt, constricting him and his thoughts.

When morning came, and with it a blue light to engulf the prince, to make his eyes flutter shut and to carry him away, Ludwig didn’t feel any better than before. However, he told himself he hadn’t done anything wrong. He remembered his grief and suffering and how much easier it was to be angry than to deal with being human and the colourful facets of emotions, both light and dark, that came with it.

He fell into a restless sleep, dreaming dreams he couldn’t remember, and when he woke up in the early afternoon, the last night was no more than a fading shadow. It was only then that he realised he didn’t know what to do, without a goal, without anyone to care for, without anyone who cared for him. His family was dead. The friends he had had were long lost or had died in the war. He was rich but what was wealth without a reason to spend it?

He saw the money he shouldn’t have needed to steal and spent some of it on things he didn’t need and didn’t want, often expensive, often ridiculous, and gave some of it away to the poor, half-dead beggars daring to approach the people of the street, cast-away and frowned upon. He wondered if that would have been his fate as well and there was anger inside him and that was good. If money didn’t make him feel anything, maybe memories did. Anger was better than nothing, he thought. Better be angry than lose yourself in boredom.

He returned to the inn and locked himself into his room when the moon reclaimed the sky. He hadn’t wanted to call Arthur when he fetched his pipe and the light, had only wanted to be free of his thoughts for a while, but, of course, he appeared. It was almost a surprise.

It shouldn’t have been possible for such a small person to tower over him, but somehow Arthur did, a smug expression in his face. “That wasn’t quite the revenge you’ve hoped for, huh?”

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. He puffed and sent a cloud of smoke in his direction, making him cough and shake in the air like a leaking boat before he hurriedly fluttered away. Arthur, now glaring at him from a safe distance, crossed his arms. “I hope you didn’t call me because you want to repeat that miserable event.”

“I didn’t want to call you,” Ludwig grumbled. Though, somehow he couldn’t send him away either. Something made him pause, something made him speak, and his words surprised himself maybe even more than Arthur. “Still… now that you’re here… get Gilbert to me.”

Arthur looked at him as if his skin colour had changed to blue. “You’re crazy.”

“And you have to do what I tell you,” Ludwig snapped icily and turned away from him. Arthur huffed but didn’t say anything and when Ludwig tried to catch a glimpse of him, he was gone.

It was at midnight when a sleeping prince found his way to his room once more. This time, though, Arthur appeared at his side, not only glowering but also as pale as the moon. There was the gleam of sweat on his forehead and the green of his eyes was almost too bright to look at, sparks flying in their depths. Ludwig tensed up even before he spoke.

“I refuse to do this again!” he snarled. “Next time get the prince yourself if you so much desire him. The king’s suspicious, Ludwig. There were peas in Gilbert’s pockets, meant to leave a track. I had to scatter peas all across the city to cover it. It wasn’t only annoying, it was unnecessary as well. I repeat myself: Do. Not. Wish. For. This. Again.”

With that, he vanished. A cold shiver ran down Ludwig’s spine but Arthur’s warning faded as soon as his eyes fell on Gilbert. Somehow, he had forgotten just how young he was. He was old enough to fight in a war, yes, older than Ludwig had been in his first battle, but there was something about him that made Ludwig want to jump in front of him to protect him with his life.

 _How often does he even leave the castle?_ Ludwig thought and his heart felt oddly heavy.

This time Gilbert jolted awake as if someone had poured a bucket of icy water over his head. He grabbed the blankets, drawing sharp breaths, his grip firm enough to whiten his knuckles, his eyes searching the room and finding Ludwig.

“You.” He snorted, relaxing somewhat. Ludwig noticed how his fingers let go of the blankets to wander to his hips, grazing the pockets cut into the gown’s fabric as if by accident, and he narrowed his eyes. Arthur had spoken the truth, it seemed. Still, he had said he had dealt with that problem, right? There was nothing to worry about.

“I think I’ve never had the same dream two nights in a row…” Gilbert lifted his brows, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What is it this time? Peeling carrots? Sewing a dress? Surprise me!”

Ludwig stiffened. Not because of the words, because those had been harmless enough, but because he had no idea what to do now. He had gone against Arthur’s wish because he had been bored and ill-humoured and had wanted to spite him and maybe, just maybe, because a part of him had wanted to see Gilbert again. However, he hadn’t thought further than that. He sighed, resisting the urge to rub his face.

“It’s your dream…,” he murmured because he had no better idea. “Is there anything you want to do?”

Gilbert’s widened slightly. His lips curled into a mischievous grin and Ludwig, remembering last night’s gracious offer, immediately regretted his words. Though, Gilbert only laughed in an almost innocent, warm way, the way only a child should be able to laugh, without a care in the world, or free of chains after a time of struggles. He shrugged, letting his feet dangle from the bedside.

“I like fencing,” he said. “But I don’t see any swords.”

Ludwig went to the nearest chair and broke off two of its legs with an ugly creak, splinters of wood falling to the floor like snowflakes. He didn’t feel bad about it. There was enough money in only one of his bags to refurnish the whole room, if necessary. He threw one of the chair’s legs to Gilbert and kept the other one for himself.

“Let’s fence.”

Gilbert’s brows rose almost high enough to disappear beneath his bangs, though his grin also widened. He rose and gave the wooden bar a few experimental twists and turns.

“I feel like I have to mention I’ve never been beaten since my thirteenth birthday. Don’t feel too bad about losing. You see, that’s just-“

Ludwig didn’t let him finish the sentence but attacked his unprotected side. He had been certain Gilbert was all talk and no action, that the rumours had only been that, rumours, that his father was instructing the teachers to go easy on him, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with defeat, that he might not even be able to properly hold a sword, let alone block a blow, especially as he was so very easy to distract. He had been hoping for a quick, humiliating end to that smug attitude of his.

However, it turned out he was mistaken. Not only did Gilbert block the blow as if he had seen it coming long ago with no more than a soft gasp, he also moved to make his own attack immediately afterwards, pressing forward with the swiftness of a hawk and the resilience of a wolf. It was almost scary.

Still, Ludwig was no inexperienced coward either. He dodged the attack, leaping backwards, all the while trying to read Gilbert’s movements, trying to make sense of his strategy. Every man had his own way to fight, his very own melody that wasn’t possible to copy, that came from inside him like a song. You could listen to it, though, you could remember and study it like a book until you might be able to anticipate what came next.

Gilbert’s song was beautiful. It was unfair, really. He hadn’t fought a battle in his life, he shouldn’t have been that good. It was hard to keep up with the constant succession of blows that soon seemed to melt into each other until there was no single blow to dodge anymore, until they weren’t really fighting but dancing, moving as one with a rhythm neither of them could pinpoint. Ludwig only knew he had to win this fight, for his honour, for his past, for whatever had made him get Gilbert here tonight.

After a while, he couldn’t have said when exactly, something changed. Gilbert’s grin faded to a grim smile, then a strained grimace. There were pearls of sweat at his temple, rolling down his cheeks in a constant stream, gathering at his chin, then falling down at every hasty motion. His eyes, as red as blood, as vivid as the petals of a poppy, were screaming at Ludwig. Still, no word got past his lips and Ludwig knew he couldn’t allow himself to speak, had to focus on the fight, or lose it after all.

Ludwig smiled. He was panting as well but he was older, more experienced. He had learned to pace himself, wouldn’t have been able to survive if he hadn’t done so. If you managed to distract your opponent long enough to exhaust him, it didn’t matter who was better or stronger. In the end, all you needed was a little push. He was ready to give the defeating blow, aware that Gilbert wouldn’t be quick enough to block it because his muscles were trembling already, his chest heaving with every gasping breath, and he lunged out.

He could see the shock blossoming in Gilbert’s face just when his leg gave way and a burning pain shot through his knee as if someone had pushed a glowing nail into his flesh. He bit his tongue in his struggle not to cry out, gasping when his back met the floor and the air fled his lungs. There was darkness until he managed to open his eyes, his whole body shaking. When he swallowed hard, he tasted iron. Everything hurt.

“Uh… are you alright?” Gilbert asked. When his face appeared in Ludwig’s field of vision, it was red, silver strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

Ludwig didn’t want to answer. That was the difference between them and it was as clear as daylight. Gilbert, energetic and youthful and naive, had never been to war, while ex-soldier Ludwig was injured because he had wanted to help his country and its people. What good had it done him?

He let his eyes fall close again and chuckled darkly.

“I’m fine,” he ground out. There wasn’t enough energy in him to rise, so he just kept lying on the floor, drawing deep breaths to calm down his heartrate. “You’re good,” he added.

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re not that bad either,” Gilbert mumbled slowly. “Though… not as good as I am, obviously.”

Ludwig should have been angry. He would have won the fight, he knew that, and Gilbert had to know that as well. Still, the feelings inside him weren’t negative of any sort and a small smile appeared in his face. He felt calm. At peace. “Obviously.”

Somewhere a cock crowed. When Ludwig rose, Gilbert was gone, blue sparks dying where he had stood.

~

When Ludwig went to eat around noon, the people around him were talking in eager, loud voices, some laughing, some voicing confusion with frowns in their faces. “It must have been fairies,” a small girl with big eyes said to her mother, who only shot her a disapproving look. She couldn’t know she was right. How else could it have rained peas last night?

Ludwig didn’t care for their talk. He tried to distract himself and bought a book about the bordering kingdoms. However, he never managed to stay focused on the text for more than a few paragraphs before his thoughts wandered astray. Gilbert’s face appeared in his mind more often than he liked to admit and he realised he had liked their nightly fencing match. He realised he liked the prince and wanted to get to know him, wanted to see him again, as much as he tried to suppress the wish. There was a tingling heat in his cheeks whenever he tried to shake off those thoughts and he never quite managed to lose them entirely.

When evening came, he summoned Arthur all too willingly. This time, there was no mocking smirk and no angry glare. Arthur, arms crossed, only gave him a long look and sighed.

“I see…,” he muttered before Ludwig had the chance to say something. He rolled his eyes, then raised a brow. “There’s nothing I can say or do to change your mind, huh?”

Ludwig averted his gaze. “No… I’m sorry.”

“All right,” Arthur said. “Here’s what I know: the king told his son to hide one of his boots in the room he’s brought to. Your room. I can’t do anything against it. They’ll search your room and they’ll find it and you’ll be executed. It’s as easy as that. Now, tell me, is he really worth it?”

Ludwig let his fingers tap against his knee and considered the matter for a while, not because he wanted to change his mind about seeing Gilbert again, but because he knew there had to be another solution, one that wouldn’t end with his death. There would be risks, of course, but he had never shied away from danger. He allowed himself to smile.

“Arthur, you want to be free, don’t you?”

Arthur froze, lips trembling with unsaid words, eyes staring intensely as if trying to look through Ludwig, as if asking _what are you trying to say?_ Ludwig met his gaze with unwavering confidence.

“If you help me with this, I’ll free you, I promise you that. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

~

When Gilbert opened his eyes, he didn’t move, only stared silently at the ceiling. He was wearing the same clothes as the nights before, though this time his feet weren’t naked but covered by the leather of black, polished boots. Strangely, he wasn’t smiling. Something ran through his gaze, a dim light, almost like sadness. It didn’t want to fit his usual cheerful behaviour.

“Gilbert?” Ludwig asked, his mouth dry.

It was only now that Gilbert’s trademark grin appeared like a mask he pulled on, that he gave his arms a stretch, yawning slightly, then rolling over to sit on the bedside. He looked up at Ludwig and raised a brow. “It’s unfair. You know my name but I’m stuck with making up nicknames for you. They’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like you wouldn’t like them.”

“It’s Ludwig.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened, his mouth gaping slightly, as if he didn’t quite know how to respond, as if he hadn’t expected Ludwig to give an honest answer. It was an amusing sight. If Ludwig hadn’t been that nervous, he might have laughed about it. His name didn’t matter, not when it would be discovered anyway. It felt good to tell it to Gilbert, as if he had only been a shadow and now had the chance to be real. It felt right.

“I like the name,” Gilbert declared with a smile, though there was also a different spark in his eyes, something dark, something bitter. Sad confusion, buried deep inside him. He tilted his head. “Do you want to abuse the poor chair’s legs again?”

Ludwig shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. “Do you know how to play chess?”

Gilbert’s face lit up. He jumped to his feet with the excitement of a child at Christmas morning, his grin as bright as the sun itself. “Of course, my dear Ludwig! Prepare yourself for the inevitable defeat.”

They played until the early morning hours. Out of six games, there were three ties, two win’s on Gilbert’s side, and one on Ludwig’s. It had been a while since he had last played but when he got the hang of it again, it became more and more difficult for Gilbert to keep up with him. Their seventh game was about to end with Ludwig checkmating him for the second time in a row when Gilbert’s eyes fluttered close. His head met the table, pieces of chess scattered all across its surface. Blue sparks took him away and Ludwig was alone again.

He didn’t sleep that night. His thoughts were racing in his mind, doubt and fear raging through him like a storm he couldn’t escape. He wondered if he had made the right choice.

Arthur had told him what would happen, so it wasn’t a surprise when there were soldiers barging against his door. Ludwig took a deep breath, adjusted the clean, silken jacket he had put on for this occasion, brushed off the hints of dust on his breeches, and rose to let them in. If he had a meeting with the king, he couldn’t come looking like a peasant, could he?

“I know who you’re looking for,” he said. “Congratulations. You’ve found him.”

That was how he ended up in a cell at the end of the day, hands cuffed, only the moon shining through the cell bars as company. However, he felt no fear because he still had the light, neatly stored away in his breast pocket. He felt its pulsating warmth and he knew he wasn’t really alone because Arthur was with him and they had a plan. He knew fate was on his side. If his life had led up to this moment, it couldn’t stop when he was so close to reach his goal, could it? He had to believe in himself. He had to believe everything would be alright, or else he would go crazy with anxiety.

He hadn’t wanted to sleep but somehow he must have drifted off anyway because a voice woke him. It wasn’t a loud voice and maybe that was why he didn’t understand what it said. Still, it was enough to startle him, to make him look at the dancing shadows of his cell with wide eyes and a racing heartbeat. At first, there was only darkness. He wondered if it had been a dream or a voice of his memory. That was when his eyes wandered to the cell door and the small, barred window at its top. He couldn’t make out more than hints of a face, specks of silver hair, but it was enough to confirm who had come to visit him in his supposedly last hours. Prince Gilbert.

“You’re in there, aren’t you? Ludwig?” he whispered and Ludwig raised a brow, a grim smile tugging at his lips. _What are you doing here? You’re the reason I’m here in the first place_ , he wanted to say. _Do you have a conscience after all?_

Still, there also was a flicker of warmth inside him and he straightened his back, crawling as close to the door as the chains allowed. Wasn’t it funny how he was bowing down to the one thing he had sworn to defeat? Ironic, really. Maybe Gilbert would be his downfall. Or maybe, just maybe, everything was as it should be.

“I’m here,” Ludwig muttered. There was silence, long enough for him to wonder if Gilbert had even heard him, if he hadn’t given up and had returned to his warm, comfortable quarters after all.

“You… you should’ve listened to me,” Gilbert mumbled. There was the rustling of clothes and somehow his voice sounded closer, as if he were pressing his body against the door, so it would be easier to understand him, as if he couldn’t raise his voice because he shouldn’t be here and didn’t want to be discovered. “I told you you’d get executed. My father’s not only a bastard but he’s a powerful bastard. He’s got the whole kingdom on his side. There was no way you would get through with this… I’m impressed you were even able to go this far…”

He took a deep breath, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. Somewhere an owl howled.

“Still…” If possible, his voice had gone even quieter, strangled, as if it hurt to speak. “I’m sorry.”

Ludwig leaned his back against the wall, let his eyes rest for a while. “Did your father tell you who I am?”

“He doesn’t know you.”

Ludwig couldn’t help but laugh, the sound dark and angry, the kind of sound that was even worse than crying because the time for tears was long gone and it was the only thing left, the last embers of hell, soon to be extinguished. He shook his head slowly. “Wrong answer. I was a soldier in your father’s army. When I injured myself in a battle – for him, for this kingdom –, he left me without the means to survive, without money, without help. He would have left me to die. I feel sorry for you… I might hate your father even more than you do.”

“You don’t seem to be starving…,” Gilbert argued. “And you did abduct me… even though I still don’t know how the hell you’ve managed that. I like you but that doesn’t scream saint to me.”

Ludwig stiffened, grimacing. “Well, I’m sorry. It was a foolish idea, I wasn’t thinking clearly… and then I just didn’t want to stop. You don’t need to see me again after tomorrow… still, I have to settle a score with the king. You understand that, surely.”

He could almost see Gilbert’s confused face before him, the furrowed brows, the grimace of doubt. His voice got louder as his irritation grew, the syllable shaking like a sail in a storm.

“I spoke with my father. I tried to convince him to let you go. He won’t do it. He wants to see you dead. What’s your plan, Ludwig? You can’t escape. I would’ve done so long ago if it were possible… I would go with you in this very second if there was a way.”

“You’ll see,” Ludwig said, smiling. “Fate’s on my side.”

~

The guillotine was erected on a small hill in the midst of the castle’s inner ring. It was just in the right place for the sun’s rays to reach it, so that those poor souls sentenced to death could find pleasure in feeling their warmth in their last seconds. Ludwig only felt cold. However, he wasn’t really about to die, was he? He had a plan. Gilbert thought he would live, he couldn’t disappoint him.

It was strange to see the prince at daylight. Though, he was no less attractive, maybe even more so as he was wearing proper clothes and the night couldn’t cloak him in shadows anymore. He wasn’t smiling, the line of his jaw hard and tense, and the fingers clutching the chair he was forced to sit in were white. He was pale and didn’t look as if he had slept the night before. His eyes were narrowed. If you only caught a glimpse of his expression you might be able to mistake the feelings displayed for resentment or disgust, but Ludwig knew there was worry first and foremost.

The king on the other hand showed resentment and disgust more than enough for the both of them. War, fear, and suspicion had destroyed what might have been a beautiful man once. You could still see the shadow of the past in his features, cracks of a mirror that made you wonder what had been before the death of his wife, if he had been a good leader once. Still, Ludwig had seen and had lived through too much to feel sorry for him. He stayed silent during the juridical speeches, only glancing at Gilbert’s stern, anxious face every now and then to find comfort in it. Only when the king ordered him to walk to the guillotine did he speak.

“There’s one last thing I ask of you, your majesty. There’s a bit of tobacco left in my pipe… if I’m to die, I’d like to have a last joyful memory. Do you grant me my wish, sire?”

“If that’s the price I have to pay to never have you lay a finger on my son again, so be it. Smoke your pipe, I don’t care as long as you’re rotting in hell at the end of the day.”

Ludwig suppressed his smile and bowed down respectfully. He fetched the blue light and lit his pipe, soon blowing rings of smoke into the wind. There was a soft whoosh, a shower of sparks, and then Arthur appeared, sitting on his shoulder with his usual frown. He eyed the guillotine warily.

“Now, that’s something I’ve never wanted to see up this close…” A shudder ran through him.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Ludwig murmured, his voice low enough that only he would understand him. “You’ve done a lot for me. Thank you for everything. I wish that you won’t be bound to the blue light anymore after this day. That you’re free to go wherever you want to go.”

Only then did he raise his voice, meeting the king’s wide eyes. _It’s me_ , Ludwig wanted to say. _The soldier you’ve rejected. The soldier who’s come to reclaim his prize._ Still, he knew those words were unnecessary. The king’s whitening face, the panic spiralling through his gaze at realising Ludwig had supernatural help, told him he already knew.

“Now, considering your majesty…” He took a shuddering breath, trying to talk through the bile creeping up his throat, the disgust curling in his body, the bitter years of war he had lived through. “You’re not only an awful ruler who treats the people dying for him like dirt, you’re also a despicable father, and that’s even worse. You should beg your son for forgiveness. Nobody should be stored away like a bird with clipped wings in a golden cage. You should suffer for everything you’ve done… but I can’t risk that. It’s time for a new chapter to start… Arthur, I wish the king shares the fate of his late wife… and I wish whoever supported him dies with him.”

_Then the fairy took off like lightning, zip-zap, back and forth, and everyone he even touched with his cudgel fell to the ground and did not dare to move. The king became afraid. He begged for mercy, and in order to save his life, he gave to the soldier his kingdom as well as his son for a husband._

~


End file.
